Ghosts Within Us
by clonedmemories
Summary: Remember this: the past is the present for as long as you carry it with you. Otherwise known as "how can you love someone who cannot love you back?"
1. Chapter 1

**Ghosts Within Us**

**Pairing: **Kurt/Blaine  
><strong>Rating: <strong>PG-13  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>Angst. Lots of angst. And more angst.

**Note: **  
>This fic is based on Clive Wearing and his wife Deborah. It's a truly incredible story, and if you're interested in the themes of this fic, I highly recommend you have a look at it, because it's amazing. In particular, Deborah Wearing's book, <em>Forever Today<em>, is especially brilliant; touching, heartbreaking and ultimately life-affirming. While the events of this story do not mirror those exactly, a great deal of inspiration is taken from their story.

_My hands push down_  
><em> between hollow, invisible sleeves,<em>  
><em> hesitate, then take hold<em>  
><em> and lift:<em>

_a green holiday; a red christening;_  
><em> all your unfinished lives<em>  
><em> fading through dark summers<em>  
><em> entering my head as dust. <em>  
>- <em><strong>In The Attic,<strong> _Andrew Motion

* * *

><p><em>How can you love someone who cannot love you back?<em>

* * *

><p>It all starts off very suddenly.<p>

They're at home, curled up within each other. Beneath the duvet they're a tangle of limbs and fingers clutched.

And then Blaine wakes up the next morning and he's burning burning and the lights are too bright and there's a loose ache in the pit of his stomach and he moans uselessly before rolling over and throwing up over the side of the bed.

* * *

><p>"Hey Blaine, you okay?" Kurt's voice is muffled through the haze of sleep.<p>

"No – not good."

Across the bed, Blaine feels Kurt roll over, a hand on his cheek, in his hair.

"Blaine, you don't feel well at all. Do you want to eat anything? Can I get you something?"

"No, thank you. I just want to throw up every time I move and everything aches and -"

"It's okay, Blaine. I'll let you rest. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

* * *

><p>Blaine tries to hide himself amongst the damp sheets and closes his eyes to escape.<p>

* * *

><p>He can't sleep.<p>

* * *

><p>Everything's spinning and everything aches and Blaine doesn't know what's happening and there's music, music and screaming and a fire a fire and the smell of smoke and<p>

nothing.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, Blaine, oh God, Blaine, are you okay?"<p>

There's an angel above him. An angel with Kurt's face. An angel with Kurt's terrified face where the tears adorn his eyes and the soft creases of worry line his head.

"What?"

"You were screaming, told me to stop the music when there was no music, then I came in here and you turned and stared at me then your eyes closed and you had some kind of seizure. Blaine, please, you're really not well. Let's get you to hospital."

Kurt begins to strip the sheets from the bed, ignoring Blaine's distant protests.

"Would you like me to call nine-one-one, or shall I take you myself?"

"You, please, Kurt – no, don't want to go - ,"

"Blaine, please, you have to." The break in Kurt's voice is unmistakeable as the worry overwhelms him. "Here, let me carry you, we'll get you some help."

Kurt slowly inches his hands beneath Blaine, starts to lift him, and Blaine cries out as his head falls back. As they find their way from the house Kurt whispers to him, soothes him, tells him he's going to be okay, that they're getting help and Kurt doesn't know if Blaine can really hear him or not but he hopes so.

Blaine's cry echoes through the early evening as Kurt lays him in the back seat of the car, and he writhes faintly at the sound of Kurt closing the car door.

* * *

><p>They drive to the hospital in a blur.<p>

* * *

><p>"My husband, Blaine Anderson – he's ill, sick, he needs to be seen quickly."<p>

Beside him, Blaine moans again.

"Kurt, the light – it's too bright, it's like the sun, I don't like it."

The woman at the desk, with bleached hair and red lipstick and uncaring eyes, taps a few details into the computer.

"Someone will be with you as soon as possible."

"How long?" Kurt asks, a little breathless.

But before he can get an answer Blaine collapses, shaking, his body broken and wracked by tremors and Kurt's there at his side before a nurse is pushing him away.

Blaine stills.

Kurt breathes.

* * *

><p>The emergency room is a patchwork of colours and sound and Kurt stands alone in amongst it as he watches the shoals of doctors and nurses and consultants swarm around an unconscious, unfeeling Blaine.<p>

Soon there's an IV in his arm and a drip and a machine that goes beep beep beep like a mock-heartbeat and people shouting "bloods" and "MRI scan" and "page Dr Smith" and Kurt doesn't want this. He wants to hold Blaine, tell him he'll get better without the mechanics and the medicine and he knows it's rubbish but God he just feels so helpless right now.

He just wishes he could _do _something.

* * *

><p>At one point, they take Blaine away.<p>

But he's back before long.

* * *

><p>Blaine's sleeping now.<p>

* * *

><p>"We've got Blaine's MRI scan back and there are some abnormalities. We're not sure what it could be just yet. We don't think there's any sort of mass there, and nor do we think it's meningitis, but he's still not out of the woods yet. He's seriously ill. We suspect now that is could either be cerebrovascular disease or a condition known as herpes simplex encephalitis, where a virus crosses the barrier between the blood and the brain. We'll start treating him with Acyclovir in the meantime to try and stop anything that might already be going on, but we're going to need to do further tests once he wakes up to get a proper diagnosis."<p>

"Right, okay."

* * *

><p>When Blaine wakes up again Kurt's fingers are laced with his.<p>

"Hey," Kurt whispers, his voice a little rough.

Blaine mouths a hello but doesn't speak.

"They've just got to do a couple more tests, Blaine, then you'll be feeling better, okay?"

Beneath closed eyes, Blaine whimpers, folding inwards.

"Hello, Blaine, my name's Doctor Smith and I'm just going to talk you through everything I'm going to do. It will be very quick and it won't take long. We think that there might be a virus that's affecting your brain. It's serious, but we've caught it early and we'll be able to do something about it as soon as we find out what it is. We'll take a bit more blood and get that tested and I'd also like to be able to do a lumbar puncture, so that we can identify the problem and get you feeling better. Is that okay with you?"

Dr Smith's voice is warm and feminine and staid, a source of comfort within the room. And the fact that her voice doesn't make Blaine cry out and cover his ears must be a good thing, right?

Kurt hears the tear of a wrapper, the click of a join coming together.

"What I'm going to do is lift the sheets and your gown, and put a little antiseptic over the area. The way you're lying is just fine."

_But it's not fine_, Kurt thinks. _It's not fine that Blaine's curled over to try and block out every single one of his senses, not moving without screaming, aching in pain and so, so scared – _

"You might want to hold his hand, Kurt, just in case."

As Kurt tries to slip his fingers between Blaine's without dislodging them from their safehold, Blaine whispers, "Kurt, you're cold."

"I'm going to put a little anaesthetic into your skin, Blaine. It will sting a little, but it shouldn't be too bad. If it hurts, squeeze Kurt's fingers. It'll help."

A few seconds later, Blaine's grip tenses and a low sigh echoes in the room.

"There. We'll wait a few minutes for it to work, and then we can get it all done." She gives Kurt an apologetic smile. Blaine closes his eyes.

* * *

><p>It's a few minutes later that Doctor Smith leaves with tubes of bits of Blaine and an <em>It'll be alright<em> and all that hangs in her wake is the ripple of Blaine's cries of pain and Kurt, left alone in the silence.

* * *

><p>The room is still.<p>

Blaine is sleeping.

Kurt is watchful.

And then

...

_No._

"Blaine? Blaine? Help! Somebody, please help! Please - ,"

Two nurses round the corner quickly, run through the door to Blaine, where he's shaking and out-of-control and helpless until one injects something through his IV and another adds something to the drip and

"He's sleeping now. It's okay. He'll sleep for a while, at least until we get the results of the tests back. We're going to keep giving him the Acyclovir in the meantime. You're welcome to stay with him, but you look tired. You should go home – have a shower, change your clothes, get something to eat at the very least. It'll do you good, I promise."

* * *

><p>Kurt does go home.<p>

But he's back at the hospital within two hours.

* * *

><p>That night he falls asleep, his head resting on Blaine's bed.<p>

* * *

><p>The next day Kurt leaves Blaine's side three times.<p>

Once to get coffee and breakfast.

Once to get coffee and some food for the evening.

And once when they take Blaine away for a second MRI, just to make sure.

* * *

><p>Oh, Kurt waits patiently. He waits as the seconds are teased into minutes into hours into days and the steady sound of the heart monitor washes over the pair of them like the ebb and flow of the tide.<p>

Blaine breathes and Kurt waits.

Kurt waits and wishes and waits some more. He makes a wish that bleeds and he dreams of soft kisses and white grace. He's lost in himself and he makes such poor company and as he thinks and thinks he slowly begins to sink away.

* * *

><p>"Mr Hummel, can I please talk to you for a moment?"<p>

"Of course."

"Blaine's test results have come back, and it's not good news. As we suspected, Blaine has a condition called herpes simplex encephalitis. The herpes simplex virus, which is present in many people and usually just causes cold sores, has passed through the blood-brain barrier. In short, he's not good. Even if he does pull through – and there's a good chance he will now that we've caught it early and can treat it – it's highly likely that he'll have some kind of brain damage, and we won't know the extent of that until he wakes up. In the meantime, we'll be keeping him sedated and upping his dose of the Acyclovir to fight off the infection. I'm very sorry, Mr Hummel."

Kurt takes a deep breath that shudders in his throat before he collapses into the chair beside the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Kurt dreams.

He's in a meadow and the stars are scattered along crushed velvet and there's a summer breeze. The trees whisper their secrets to him and his fingers collect the ghosts from the grass. He's walking towards a deep, golden light that draws him closer closer ever closer, and there's music, singing, something old and forgotten, and his breath catches.

But as he approaches the light shrinks back, becomes smaller, until it's nothing but a drop of blood drawn from a needle and there's a figure through the darkness staring at him and it's Blaine, of course it's Blaine.

Kurt smiles his name.

And all Blaine can say in reply is,

"Who?"

* * *

><p>Kurt wakes up the next morning with tears shining on his face.<p>

* * *

><p>The hospital feels like a prison now, a glass tank clouded with feelings that close in to suffocate him.<p>

* * *

><p>It's hard to describe the feeling, the one where you know the person you love above anything else has their life poised between scissors.<p>

It's like a stretching, something that descends into a burning like the dancer's muscles as she pirouettes through the finest performance of her life, as she steals the audience of their breath silently, a thief, and she hides her pain behind her masque and an easy smile as the notes hold her before she's reaching up and she's traced by fire and she turns into an arabesque and falls.

* * *

><p>The worst thing is Kurt can't cry.<p>

He doesn't _feel_ enough to cry.

* * *

><p>He's a prisoner, kept in time's cage.<p>

Slowly, hours and days and seconds and minutes become indistinguishable from each other, and everything begins to lose meaning through the sand timer running away.

* * *

><p>They leave them alone most days.<p>

They come in twice, just to check stats, change the drip, ask a rhetorical "are you alright?"

Then they leave and just let him drown.

* * *

><p>The silence is deafening.<p>

* * *

><p>That evening, Kurt walks through prosaic hospital corridors.<p>

Everywhere's the same; it all smells of disinfectant, lit with a sterile glow, corridors with obnoxious posters peeling from the walls.

There's the sound of a child crying, a man on crutches, a mother and daughter holding hands as they walk free. It's a washed-out blue, shaded with pastel and blotted with water.

It's hard to comprehend how so many emotions can be stitched together in one place; relief, sadness, anger, happiness, a lazy calm and frantic rush.

And it's even harder to understand how, in the midst of everything, he feels nothing.

* * *

><p>That night, he kisses Blaine's burning forehead, feels the evidence on his lips of the fever decreasing.<p>

How ironic, that the one time he wants to hold Blaine the most is the one time that he can't.

* * *

><p>"Mr Hummel, are you awake?"<p>

It's Doctor Smith.

"What time is it?"

"It's just before midday. Rough night?"

"You could say that, yeah."

Kurt lifts his head from Blaine's bed, smoothes out the imprint he's made.

"We're going to take Blaine for a final scan now. His fever's receding, and we hope there's little chance of any more seizures. But we need to see what kind of damage has been done. Check the pressure in his brain and observe what's happened. He's going to pull through but we don't know what he'll be like the other side. But he'll survive. That's good, right?"

Kurt manages a weak smile as they wheel Blaine out of the room.

* * *

><p>But the more he thinks about it the less good it seems.<p>

Blaine, brain damaged.

Blaine, incapacitated.

Blaine, unable to walk, talk, do anything.

Blaine, but not Blaine.

And finally he feels something.

A cold, creeping terror.

* * *

><p>When Blaine returns Kurt can't bring himself to look.<p>

* * *

><p>"We've had Blaine's MRI back and we're identified the areas of damage. The main area we've noticed significant problems in is his temporal lobe, so he's likely to have problems with his memory, as well as possibly with his sight and speech. Maybe movement as well. We won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up, and we're hoping to do that tomorrow. We'll need to keep him in for a for a couple of weeks, keep him on the Acyclovir just in case and to make sure it's all cleared up, and we can monitor him to see what kind of further treatment or therapy he'll need. That's all we know now. But he should be back with us tomorrow if all goes as planned."<p>

* * *

><p>Twenty four hours.<p>

That's all.

That's all the time Kurt has until Blaine's back.

_Blaine's going to wake up._

He's coming back.

* * *

><p>But what if Blaine can't walk or speak or see anything?<p>

What if Blaine can never play the piano or sing again?

What if Blaine doesn't remember him?

He's heard the stories; Wernicke's Aphasia, anterograde amnesia, maybe it's like that film he saw once with that guy that –

No.

That's not going to happen to Blaine.

Is it?

* * *

><p>Kurt doesn't sleep that night.<p>

He sits, head low and submissive to whatever he'll find when Blaine wakes up.

* * *

><p>He mulls over what it will mean.<p>

Blaine could have to leave work; his job as an English teacher and director of the school choir. He couldn't do that any more.

He'd become a teacher because he wanted to make a difference, to change a child's life, to watch them bud and bloom and grow outwards into the jungle of the world. Knowing his pupils left his lesson having learnt something was the best feeling in the world to Blaine, and he wouldn't be able to do that any more.

How much of a difference did Blaine truly make?

And then there's more.

Blaine might not be able to enjoy music, the theatre, every little indulgence he and Kurt shared. He might not be able to read.

He might become completely helpless.

And Kurt, instead of being his husband, would become his carer.

They'd lose everything they've ever known.

* * *

><p>The last thing Blaine would have ever known Kurt to say was to go to sleep after the last round of tests.<p>

Nothing special or fancy.

No "I love you" or even just a "You'll be okay".

Just

"Go to sleep, now."

_What if Blaine doesn't know?_

* * *

><p>Kurt leaves Blaine's room at 9:03am to walk the hospital corridors once more, take a breath outside in the last dregs of the morning.<p>

He returns at 9:57.

By 10:00 Dr Smith has joined them.

"We're going to stop adding the sedative to Blaine's drip now so he'll wake up in his own time. A few hours or so, we expect. There'll be a little movement – maybe twitching fingers, eyelids, something small at first. What I want you to do is press the call button at the side of Blaine's bed as soon as you notice it and we'll come and be here for when he wakes up fully."

And so Kurt waits.

He's getting tired of waiting.

* * *

><p>He watches as the activity on the monitor slowly rises, as the rates quicken along with his nervous heartbeat.<p>

Blaine's breathing becomes more pronounced and he looks less peaceful, but there's a spark there instead, something new and vibrant and _alive. _

And maybe, just maybe, he's going to be okay.

* * *

><p>Kurt takes Blaine's hand in both of his.<p>

And soon, just as promised, Blaine's fingers flutter in his grip.

* * *

><p>There are four of them surrounding the bed as Blaine begins to stir.<p>

One nurse notes down stats, keeps an eye on the monitor.

Another toys with her hair absent-mindedly, sitting next to Doctor Smith as they wait.

And Kurt, eyes fixed on Blaine's face, just looking out for the moment when Blaine can see the world once more.

* * *

><p>Once.<p>

Twice.

Three times.

Blaine blinks and opens his eyes, staring.

"Hey there, beautiful." Kurt smiles at him, just hoping for a response, for something.

"Kurt -" Blaine whispers, his voice strained from the lack of use. He gives up and just returns Kurt's smile instead, a faint etching of his lips.

"Hello there Blaine. How are you feeling?"

"Wait – who are you?"

"I'm Doctor Smith, Blaine, you've seen me before."

"I don't think I have. I'm sorry, but I don't recognise you in the slightest."

Kurt looks up at her, eyes wide.

"Mr Hummel, do you have anything in your wallet that we could use to test Blaine's memory? A photograph or something?"

Silently, from his pocket, Kurt withdraws a picture of the New Directions ten-year reunion; all the members that could make it, including Mr Schuester and Ms Pillsbury and a few of the other teachers as well.

"That's perfect, thank you," she comforts him as he hands it over. She shows the picture to Blaine. "Now Blaine, can you tell me who this is?"

"That's Kurt."

"Well done, now how about this man here?"

"I don't know who he is."

"How about this lady here?"

"I've never seen her before in my life. She's very pretty, though."

Kurt looks over and notices she's pointing at Rachel.

"Okay, let's try something else. Do you know when this photo was taken?"

"The New Directions Reunion. It says so on the banner."

"I know what – do you recognise this handsome man right here?"

"Nope, not at all."

And suddenly all colour seems to have drained from the room.

Blaine can't even recognise himself.

* * *

><p><em>Here's the second chapter today, and I hope to update weekly from now on! So expect a new chapter every Sunday. Thank you all so much for reading!<em>


	3. Chapter 3

"Kurt, would you mind leaving us alone for a few seconds? You can take your photograph back but we want to check Blaine out a bit more, test his memory. We can be fairly sure now that his speech is fine, and his sight – at least, he can recognise you – but his memory could be in trouble."

All Kurt can do is nod, accept the photograph back into shaking hands.

"Wait, what did you say your name was again?"

"I'm Doctor Smith, Blaine."

"Let me kiss Kurt goodbye."

Kurt runs over to Blaine's bed, presses their lips together a little too hard, as if the passion could ignite the fire of memory.

When he pulls away he notices Blaine's cheeks are a little wet.

He refuses to believe it's from tears.

* * *

><p>It's only sitting outside that he comes to the realisation:<p>

His worst fear had been that Blaine wouldn't remember him.

And now Blaine can't remember anything _but _him.

* * *

><p>The sky is blank and he's falling falling downwards, spiralling away from control and into nothingness. The deep waters of uncertainty welcome him into the tide that pulls him away from everything he's ever known. They whisper and resonate and echo, romantic poetry and quotes and the songs of old, and somewhere he's dancing but no he doesn't want to dance but they force him through a waltz quickstep <em>cha cha cha <em>rumba of the heart. The joyous endings twist around him, leave him speechless and helpless and isolated.

_Take a bow; you've performed exquisitely._

And he succumbs to the screams of the millions.

* * *

><p>"Excuse me, Sir, are you alright?"<p>

"Oh – sorry."

Kurt looks up to find a teenage boy, concerned.

"Would you like a tissue?"

He offers one to Kurt in an open palm.

Kurt stares at it for a moment before accepting it, dabbing at his eyes.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah – sorry, I just got some bad news. My husband, he's been ill, it's destroyed his memory -"

"I'm very sorry."

"Don't be. I don't need sympathy."

* * *

><p>Nothing feels more suffocating than the passing of everyday events. As he sits on the steps before the front entrance, all he sees is how the word reels by, how they don't care. A man talks on the phone. A teenager plays music too loudly. A woman runs to catch her bus, almost breaking the heel on her shoe. A couple walk by at an easy pace, holding hands.<p>

Each beat feels like a knot tightening around his throat.

Time begins to lose its meaning.

* * *

><p>He could run.<p>

He could run and not come back.

He could just leave Blaine there, let him be taken care of.

He could regain his grip on the world. Continue the dream for a little longer.

It's possible.

He could do it.

Just leave now, no looking back...

* * *

><p>But of course he returns to Blaine.<p>

How could he not return to Blaine?

* * *

><p>Kurt hates himself for even thinking of running in the first place.<p>

* * *

><p>"Mr Hummel, can I talk to you for a minute?"<p>

"Of course."

"Here, take a seat. We've assessed Blaine's condition and we don't have good news. Physically he'll be fine, but mentally – we did another MRI, and the virus has caused serious damage to his memory. He has total amnesia; there are two types, retrograde and anterograde, and Blaine has shown clear signs of both of them. As you saw earlier the only person he can seem to remember is you. He knows that the two of you are married, and he clearly loves you very much, but he can't remember anything else. Not how you met, what his job is, not even who his parents are. But what we're more concerned about is Blaine's anterograde amnesia. The two conditions combined means that not only does he remember very little before his illness, but he won't be able to form new memories either. As a result, he's almost wholly contained to the present.

"This is not going to be easy for either of you. But there are options. Places where Blaine can be taken care of around the clock. Of course you can take care of him yourself, if that's what you feel would be best for him, but please know that there's always the choice. I have a couple of pamphlets for you here, if you'd like them.

"Also, I have one last question: you've said that Blaine used to sing in High School? Did he play any other instruments as well? You see, while his declarative memory is damaged his procedural memory is very much separate from it and he may therefore retain the ability to do a number of things that he used to; he can read things, and write. He'd be able to dress himself in clothes that match. And he may also be able to play instruments. If he, for example, played the piano, or the guitar, or the cello, or anything else he could still be able to do that. He won't remember how he learnt, or what he's played, but in the moment, he can. He might even be able to remember song lyrics and tunes. You could try singing to him and seeing if he remembers.

"You've got time to think. Blaine won't be out of here for at least another week, and probably more. We need to keep him on the acyclovir to reduce the chances of any reoccurrence, and monitor him. You're welcome to stay with him whenever you need to.

"You're handling this very well, Kurt. It's clear Blaine loves you very much."

* * *

><p>But how?<p>

How can Blaine love him?

Blaine, who can't even remember what his own reflection looks like.

Who stares with eyes that read _vacancy._

Who doesn't know who he even is any more.

_How can you love someone who cannot love you back?_

* * *

><p>Suddenly, the idea of leaving seems much more of a possibility.<p>

It sounds so quick and easy.

Leave Blaine somewhere that's safe, where they can take care of him.

Maybe visit every so often.

It could be better for both of them.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Dad? Are you there?"<p>

"Kurt, I've been ringing you! Is everything okay?"

"Dad, I need to talk to you. Something's happened. Something really bad. And now I don't know what to do -"

"Hey, Kurt, it's okay. Calm down. Tell me what's wrong."

"It's Blaine. A few days ago he was ill. We thought it was just flu at first, but then he started hallucinating and having seizures and screaming every time he was moved, so we came to hospital and they sedated him for a few days and basically there was a virus in his brain, and physically he'll be fine but it's destroyed all his memories and now I don't know if I can deal with this because he's not Blaine anymore. I love him more than anything, Dad, but he's not himself, and now his Doctor just asked me about care options – "

"Kurt, slow down. Take a deep breath, 'kay? Where are you now?"

"In the hospital."

"And what do you mean when you say his memories are destroyed?"

"He can't remember anything, and he'll never be able to remember anything new. He knows his name, and he recognises me, but no one else. Not his parents, not anyone from high school, not even Rachel –and we see her at least three times a week!"

"And what is this other option?"

"There are – homes. Places where Blaine can be looked after all the time. Where they know how to help people. Where we can visit him, but without having to be his carers."

"What do you think is right?"

"I don't know, Dad! That's the whole problem!"

"Woah, wait a minute! You said you're at the hospital, right? This means two things. The first is that you need to calm down. The second is that you're still there. You're still with Blaine now. You've not given up on him when he's been about to die, so why do you want to give up now?"

"I don't know, Dad. I just don't know if I can handle it or not."

"Kurt, you've stayed with him even when he's been about to die. Did you give up on him then? Look, you are the strongest person I've known and I'm incredibly proud of you. This decision is up to you but think about it; you're still there now, so why just turn around and walk away? Think back to everything else that's happened. Did you give up when your mother died? When you went through all that shit in high school? Yeah, you transferred, but you came back. And that's the Kurt I know. One not afraid to face up to all the crap life throws at him. I have faith in you, Kurt, okay?"

"Thanks, Dad. Give my love to Finn and Carole."

"Of course. When Blaine's ready to come home, let us know and we'll come up and see you both."

"Sure. See you soon. Bye, Dad."

"I love you, Kurt."

"Love you too."


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey Blaine."

"Kurt! How are you? I haven't seen you for ages!"

Blaine's grinning wildly and holding an arm out to Kurt, who can't help wonder what Blaine means when he says 'ages'.

"Don't mind me – how are _you_ feeling, Blaine?"

"Tired. Aren't you going to give me a kiss?"

Kurt goes over to Blaine's bedside, hesitantly holds their lips together, then draws in closer, and it's a kiss of relief, of _ages _waiting, of love and remembrance and bonds of ribbon held tight and close and strong.

"I love you, Kurt," Blaine whispers, for his ears only.

"I love you too, Blaine."

* * *

><p>Kurt doesn't realise he's doing it at first.<p>

As he leaves Blaine's room to get the pair of them a cup of coffee, some chocolate for Blaine, anything else he thinks might be nice, there's suddenly a voice coming from behind him.

"_w__ell money slips into your hands__  
><em>_and then slips out like it was sand__  
><em>_and those shoes that you could never seem to fill__  
><em>_i've chased so much and lost my way__  
><em>_maybe a face for every day__  
><em>_that so casually slipped me by_

_oh, time moves on like a train__  
><em>_that disappears into the night sky__  
><em>_yeah, I still get that sad feeling inside to see the red tail lights wave goodbye_

_we'll grow old together__  
><em>_we'll grow old together__  
><em>_and this love will never__  
><em>_this old love will never die"_

Of course he knows who it is. There's only one other person in the room.

_But it can't be..._

But it is, oh, it is; Blaine, who can't remember his best friends, still has the lyrics to their wedding slow dance hidden somewhere.

Doctor Smith had said it, that he maybe just maybe could remember the music, and it's true and he can and Kurt can't help but smile as he joins in, the sound clear and bright and Blaine hasn't been this happy since, well, Kurt can't remember through the haze of recent nightmares or reality or both and they're singing singing sparkling.

"_morning comes__  
><em>_sometimes with a smile__  
><em>_sometimes with a frown__  
><em>_yeah so I never want to worry__  
><em>_if you're gonna stay around"_

Yeah, Kurt's definitely going to stay around.

He can't believe he ever thought of leaving.

Because he's still the same Blaine. The one he met on the Dalton staircase, who serenaded him with Katy Perry, who kissed him in the common room and danced with him at Prom. Who shared the most intimate of moments with him, who he married, who he loves with everything he's ever known.

Who can't remember any of it.

The smile Kurt and Blaine share once they finish isn't entirely genuine.

And then Blaine begins to shake.

It starts in his fingers, and he stares down at them until he loses control of his arms and his eyes close and _oh God he's having a seizure quick quick _and then Blaine just sighs and lies back.

"Blaine, are you okay?"

"I'm awake – Kurt! It's you! I haven't seen you in forever! You look beautiful."

Something inside of Kurt shatters.

* * *

><p>Is this what it's going to be like?<p>

Is he going to share these beautiful moments with Blaine, only for them to waste away in the air?

Will he be abandoned, left to be pulled apart by shaky memories held close?

Could this be how he's stuck, trapped in a cycle of seconds repeating for years?

Is this it?

* * *

><p>Kurt loves Blaine.<p>

Kurt knows he loves Blaine.

He just doesn't know if he could handle it.

* * *

><p>That night is the first night in over a week when he doesn't sleep in Blaine's room.<p>

He goes home, gets some space, tries to make a start on de-cluttering his mind.

* * *

><p>The next morning, he goes back in to find Blaine laughing with Doctor Smith and one of the other nurses.<p>

"Hello, Kurt! I've missed you so, so much!"

He holds out an arm, leaving the other by his side so as not to dislodge the drip while welcoming Kurt, who accepts the gesture, his arms around Blaine's neck and kissing him on the cheek.

"Kurt, we were just saying that Blaine will probably be able to go home in a few days. He'll need to be monitored, and we can arrange home visits if that's what you'd like. But it might help to get him back into a familiar environment. You're in a very good mood today, aren't you, Blaine?"

"Of course! It feels good to be awake again, and to see Kurt, of course."

Kurt can't help but return Blaine's smile enthusiastically, shining like streetlights in the dark.

* * *

><p>"Hi there!"<p>

"Kurt, is that you? How is everything? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Carole. Tired, but alright. How are you all?"

"We've been so worried about you, Kurt. It's great to hear you're doing okay."

"Please, don't worry. We're coping fine just now. In fact, Blaine's going to be able to come home in a few days, and I wondered if you'd like to come up and see us, give us a hand with everything."

"That would be wonderful! All three of us will come – or did you just want me and your father?"

"No, no, Finn can come as well, if he'd like. If he can pull himself away from his latest girl, that is."

"Of course, sweetie. We'll get going as soon as we can and let you know when we'll arrive once we know."

"Brilliant. I look forward to seeing you all!"

"You too. I hope you're okay, Kurt, and give my love to Blaine as well."

"See you soon, Carole."

"Bye, Kurt."

Beep.

Kurt hopes she didn't pick up on the sting lying in the undertones of his voice.

* * *

><p>It's later that day that Doctor Smith calls Kurt into her office.<p>

"Be back soon!" Blaine calls as Kurt follows her.

She turns on the lights, rattles the blinds, pulls her chair out from around her desk to join Kurt and break the boundary.

"Kurt, I just wanted to have a word with you about Blaine's care once he's out of here."

"I've made up my mind. I'm going to look after him."

"That's amazing, Kurt, but that's not what I meant. Obviously, Blaine's going to need regular checks, assessments. Some of these we could probably do at home. What I wanted to ask you is for your permission. I'd like to be able to have personal involvement in Blaine's care, and also ask a couple of specialists to help me with charting Blaine's progress. It's just that I've developed an incredible curiosity about Blaine's condition; it's very rare, possibly the worst case ever seen, and I'd like to be involved, if you'd let me."

Kurt needs a moment to take in all this new information.

Blaine's not a science experiment.

He's not some freak of nature, cruelly twisted into vines of ivy for her to play with.

But, how much harm could it do?

It could help.

It could lead to something new.

There might be new knowledge, things to be learnt from his...condition. And isn't that what Blaine wanted to do? Teach? Make a difference?

Maybe he still could.

"Kurt? What do you think? You don't have to give me an answer now, of course."

"It's definitely something to consider. What would it involve?"

"Well, I'd like to be able to take full responsibility for Blaine's treatment. I'd make home visits and organise any times he needed to come in here for scans or other tests. As I said, I'd also like to invite a couple of other specialists to be involved; those who are well-known and respected amongst researchers in this sort-of field. I'd like to be able to keep records of Blaine's progress and, with your permission, possibly write up what we find for publication in a journal, something medical or psychological."

"Okay. I think – I think that would be – yeah. We could do that. I think Blaine would be happy, knowing that he could help us learn something."

"That's fantastic. Thank you so much, Kurt. I'll let you go back to him now."

"Thank you, Doctor Smith."

Just as he's about to walk through the door, a call behind him makes him pause.

"Kurt, if we're going to do this, call me Clare. I'd hate for everything to remain so formal."

She smiles as Kurt tilts his head a little, considering.

"Thank you, Clare."

* * *

><p>Kurt and Blaine sit together that afternoon, fingers knotted, singing until their voices scrape rough in their throats and they run out of favourites. They'll go through old times; <em>Candles, Teenage Dream, Perfect, Without Love, Chasing Cars, Baby, It's Cold Outside, Falling Slowly.<em>

Blaine laughs, and Kurt does too, repressing the thoughts of what life used to be.

Thoughts of home.

* * *

><p>Kurt greets his family just outside the doorway to Blaine's room, kissing their cheeks, holding them in hugs a little too tight.<p>

"It's good to see you, Kurt. Though you look knackered."

"Not surprised. A lot's gone on these past two weeks."

"Can we go and see him?" Finn asks.

"Of course. He's coming home in a few minutes, Finn! But I warn you, he won't recognise you. He might freak out. He might ask you strange questions, and ask you the same thing again a few minutes later. You have to be patient, okay?"

"Of course, honey. Shall we go and say hello?"

Carole pushes the door open, letting the others file in before her.

And sure enough, Blaine jumps at seeing Kurt once more, smiles, opens his arms and kisses him wildly.

"Who's that with you?" he asks, a genuine, bright curiosity, like a child learning to explore the world.

"Blaine, this is my stepbrother, Finn, and my parents, Burt and Carole."

"It's very nice to meet you, Blaine," Carole tells him, her voice a little tentative.

Blaine seems to relax at her words, smiling up at them.

"You too."

"We brought some clothes for you to change into, Blaine."

And a neatly folded pile lands on the bed. Blaine leans over and immediately unscrews them.

"Time to go home, Blaine. We'll just get all these things out of you, let you get changed and then you're free to go, okay?"

"Thank you, pretty lady. What's your name?" Kurt smiles; Blaine's charm is still there, still alive and bright.

Blaine and Doctor Smith hold a brief conversation as she distances his mind from her actions, slowly withdrawing the needles from beneath Blaine's skin before covering each well with a band-aid.

"We'll leave you to get dressed now, Blaine. Let us know when you're ready."

"Goodbye pretty lady! Goodbye other people! Goodbye Kurt!"

* * *

><p>"If there's any problems, give me a ring, okay? You've got my number. If not, I'll see you in a week. Are you ready to go now, Blaine?"<p>

* * *

><p>Blaine skips down the long hospital corridors and Kurt has to run to try and keep up. The others keep their distance, walk a few paces behind.<p>

There's an electricity to him, a gravity that pulls the stares of passers-by, draws a laugh from a young girl who claps her hands, and Blaine's just happy to be alive. Alive and awake and away from the darkness that only he can comprehend.

* * *

><p><em>Update coming early this week because of Christmas!<em>

_The song used in this chapter is This Old Love by Lior, which is gorgeous, and I recommend you take a listen._

_I'll update at a different point next week as well, and then Sunday updates will resume as normal on January 8th! In the meantime, I hope you all have a very lovely Christmas._


	5. Chapter 5

"This is where we live," Kurt proclaims as they pull up to the house, the gravel rustling beneath the wheels.

"It's very nice," Blaine smiles.

Finn opens the car door before the engine stops, slipping out and running round to let them out. Kurt climbs out, takes Blaine's hand, holds it for a moment before encouraging him outside. Blaine is tentative, a little lost, the first nervous steps of an animal meeting the world for the first time and overwhelmed by everything bright and new.

He stares above him.

"You okay, Blaine?"

He doesn't answer.

Instead, without warning, he grabs Kurt by the hand again, his grip too tight, takes him into hold and begins to dance wildly, energized by the new sun. And he's laughing and spinning and running and laughing and it's all Kurt can do to keep up with the music playing in Blaine's head. Blaine hums something unfamiliar, unknown, maybe a new masterpiece _if only_…

And they're close and kissing under the depths of the afternoon.

* * *

><p>They go inside, and Kurt lets Blaine get settled on the sofa before his family join them. Carole's confined herself to the kitchen, busying herself. Her absence doesn't go unnoticed.<p>

"I'll be back in a few moments," Kurt whispers, kissing Blaine on the cheek before standing up and leaving.

Blaine's now left alone with people he doesn't even know, not really. They stare for a few moments, a pause settling in the air between them.

"So, Blaine, tell me about Kurt," Burt says in an attempt to cut the silence.

"He's my husband, and he's beautiful, and I love him more than anything else," Blaine tells him and Finn, and in that moment, Burt's sure that he's never heard anyone be so sure of anything else in his life. And Blaine's smile, the glow of his eyes, reassure him that it's completely true, and if Blaine knows anything, it's of love, and the love he has for Kurt.

There's something very sweet about it, Burt thinks.

* * *

><p>"Carole, what are you doing?"<p>

She looks up at Kurt from where she's been sorting through their drawer of cutlery.

"Making some food for you all. You've not been eating properly for weeks and how you're going to get a decent meal when you're – looking after Blaine, I don't know. So I might as well take the chance while I'm here to help you out a bit."

She turns her attention back to sorting through the drawer.

"Is that it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is that the only reason? Helping out a bit?"

"Yes."

She's going through the fridge now. She takes out bottles of milk, a yogurt, an old pot of jam.

"It's all out of date. I don't know what I'm going to use to cook with. I'll have to try the cupboards, see what's in there - "

_Oh._

Something shatters in her throat.

"Carole, are you alright? Hey, hey, come here. It's okay. What's wrong?"

"I'm worried about you. Both of you. I'm scared. I don't know what's happened to Blaine, and I don't want to know, but Kurt – how are you going to cope? You can't do this by yourself and Blaine's got no family left to help out. And I know I'm your stepmom, and you're as good as my own son, but what does that make me to Blaine? I'm just the old, useless stepmother-in-law, and I'm nothing. I can't help. I just wish I could _do_ something for you both."

Kurt holds Carole as she cries into his shirt, and something about her seems a lot older, like the weight of years has been forced onto her. He assures her that he'll be fine, that he'll cope, that it's okay.

"I'm sorry, Kurt. What must you think of me now, eh?"

"I love you, Carole." Kurt kisses her forehead before they break apart, passing her a tissue from the box on the table.

"Thank you. You go back into the living room now. I'll make a start on some food with what I can find."

* * *

><p>In the end, she manages to make some kind of pasta dish with the things she finds in the cupboards.<p>

They're sat at the table eating, and it feels almost like a normal family as they laugh and sip water and compliment Carole on her cooking.

"What's in this, Carole? I might have to make this myself at one point!"

"In the sauce? I used those tinned tomatoes you had, with some basil from your little herb windowsill, a bit of garlic and onion, and then that aubergine you had in the fridge and the olives in the cupboard. And yeah, I think that's about it!"

"I'm very impressed," Burt tells her, leaning over and patting her shoulder.

But there's something a little wrong about what she's just said, and it takes a moment to register. Blaine really hates aubergine.

Whenever they go out to restaurants, Blaine always sighs when the most appealing dish somehow contains it. Kurt remembers one time when they'd ordered the same fish thing, and how they managed to have aubergine in that when it had no place at all. Somehow, they never went back to that one.

"Blaine, are you enjoying your food?"

"It's delicious, Kurt."

There could be many reasons for this. Maybe Carole's cooked it nicely. Maybe it's lost in the other things. But what is probably the most likely cause in this case is that the virus has gone and messed up Blaine's ideas of taste as well.

* * *

><p><em>In this case.<em>

What does that make Blaine now?

* * *

><p>Finn's agreed to sleep on the sofa, and Kurt's shown Burt and Carole to the guest bedroom, kissed them goodnight.<p>

And now it's just him and Blaine, who's standing in his bedroom as a tourist in a foreign, far-flung country, staring around, taking it in.

Then he's walked over to the bed and jumped to sit on it.

Then jumped back off again.

So that he can jump on to his feet and bounce.

"Hey Kurt, this is fun!" Blaine shouts as the springs of the bed groan beneath him. "You should come and join me!"

Kurt stares for a moment. Blaine, achingly childish, bouncing on _his _furniture and _oh God he's going to break it soon enough _but laughing and waving and bright-shining.

And then he joins in.

* * *

><p>They collapse on the bed laughing in each others' arms and kiss before falling asleep.<p>

* * *

><p>Blaine sleeps for hours, deep into the next day.<p>

It's not until about 2 o'clock that he comes downstairs to find all of the others sitting in the living room, drinks in their hands. The pamphlets about care options are on the table.

"Kurt! It's good to see you again!"

Blaine takes Kurt in his arms once more, spinning him around and holding close.

"You've got friends with you, Kurt. Hello Kurt's friends!"

"Hi there, Blaine," Finn waves.

* * *

><p>The next day, a letter arrives through the door inviting them to the Neuropsychological Clinic of New York, 280 Madison Avenue, Suite 1402, New York, New York 10016 and to phone in to speak to Professor Buckham about confirming the time.<p>

Kurt phones, books an appointment for two weeks time.

* * *

><p>The day after, Finn, Burt and Carole return home.<p>

* * *

><p>Finn and Kurt share an awkward hug, the press of their bodies not quite right, but still comforting and warm and safe.<p>

* * *

><p>Carole whispers that he'll be okay as he kisses her cheek, to call if he needs anything, to talk, advice, whatever.<p>

* * *

><p>He doesn't exchange any words with his father, other than a soft goodbye in a hug that's a little too tight.<p>

* * *

><p>As the car pulls away, Kurt waves, and Blaine jumps up and down, shouting goodbye to the world for people he doesn't even remember any more.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Again, an early update before New Year!<em>

_As said in the last chapter, Sunday updates will resume with chapter 6 on the 8th January! However, if people would prefer a difference day, let me know. Also, are the weekly updates, working, or would they be better with longer/shorter intervals?  
><em>

_I hope you all have a lovely time, whatever you're doing on New Years, and that your 2012 is full of love and happiness.  
><em>

_See you in the New Year!_

_[Also, quick edit: can someone tell me if they got the update email twice if they track the story? Because I did, and I'm not sure why!]_


	6. Chapter 6

By the end of the first week, Blaine's confusion, combined with an uncontrollable energy, has left Kurt feeling completely exhausted.

* * *

><p>It's the worry that's the worst. When he wakes up in the middle of the night to find Blaine not in bed with him; when he picks up the phone and presses in completely random numbers; when he runs across the road without waiting as Kurt can only shout to get Blaine to stop before catching his breath.<p>

* * *

><p>It's a relief when Doctor Smith comes, exhausted from her night shift, but smiling. There's an incredible stillness to her, one that even Blaine manages to absorb somehow as she settles in their living room with a cup of tea.<p>

"So, how are you both getting on?"

"You're very pretty," Blaine tells her. She blushes slightly, shakes her hair subconsciously before composing herself again.

"Kurt, how about you?"

"Alright. It's tiring, but I don't mind."

"Tiring? How?"

"He's full of energy. He's confused, but he's happy and he's bright and everything and sometimes it's hard to keep up. He'll wonder out in the middle of the night, run out into the middle of the road rather than wait to cross, and it's scaring me. It's worrying."

"Why are you sad, Kurt?" Blaine asks, head tilted a little in consideration.

"It's okay, Blaine," Kurt smiles back.

"You got the letter from the NPC, I gather? I hear you have an appointment in the next week."

"Yes. They said you'd set us up with that."

"What I've asked them to do is to take a CT and MRI of Blaine for records, and then to go through a few tests with him – basic reasoning things, recognising patterns and features and things like that. This will not only serve as useful information, but will also help us to decide on Blaine's care plan, things we might be able to do to help him in some way. Are you sure you're coping with looking after him?"

"Yes, we're just fine, Blaine, aren't we?"

"Kurt, this shirt I was wearing has changed colour! It's like magic!"

"What colour was the one you wore beforehand, Blaine?" Doctor Smith asks kindly.

"I can't remember, but it wasn't blue."

"We're just fine."

"There are things we can try if you like. We could add a sedative to Blaine's medication, which would help for him to calm down at the very least. There might be other options as well, but would you like to try that first?"

"I think we could manage that."

"Okay. I'll write you out a prescription, get it into the dispensary when I'm in tomorrow, and you can collect it from there in the afternoon. Would that be okay for you?"

"Sure."

"I'll see you soon then. I'll be there when you see Professor Buckham next week. If you have any problems, you know to call me. Okay?"

"Thank you. Bye, Clare."

"Goodbye, Kurt, Blaine."

"But you only just got here - "

* * *

><p>That night, Kurt sits in bed restless.<p>

He just hopes that this night will be the last.

* * *

><p>On the wall in their bedroom, there's a set of three photographs hung together on the wall. The colours are smudged within the dark and the shapes are cast in Fresnels, but Kurt can see them in the back of his mind as his eyes settle on them.<p>

And it's these that Blaine notices Kurt is staring at as he wakes up.

"Kurt, hey, it's good to see you again!"

Blaine shuffles up the bed, reaches over to give Kurt a kiss on the cheek, to which Kurt smiles.

"How do you feel, Blaine?"

"I feel – _alive_."

And then Blaine rolls over right on top of Kurt, and they're kissing and passionate and it feels familiar and vintage and tastes of old times and it's all hands and legs and lips and _tears?_

* * *

><p>"Blaine, do you like the photographs we have on our wall?"<p>

"That's you, Kurt."

"Yes, it is. And do you know who's with me?"

"There's a lot of people in that first one. A lot of red."

"And who do you think that is, standing next to me?"

"In which one?"

"The one with all the red. Can you see it clearly enough?"

"No, let me go and see."

Blaine slips out from beneath the safety of the covers, goes over to stare at it blankly for a few seconds.

"Who am I looking at?"

"The person next to me in the photo with all the red."

"The girl or the boy?"

"The boy, Blaine."

"Is he the same boy in all the other photographs?"

"Yes, he is."

"You look very happy with him."

"I am, because I love him more than anything else in the world."

* * *

><p>Kurt tries to tell Blaine the stories behind each photograph. Graduation, all of New Directions together for one last time. Where Artie, Tina and Brittany stick out because they have another year to go, how Blaine should be with them if he hadn't taken on extra work to graduate at the same time and fulfil their dazzling dreams of New York together.<p>

He speaks of their wedding in England together, and the ceremony in New York City with everyone there dressed to heights as Blaine's elder sister gave him away, sure their parents were watching from wherever they were now.

And of their honeymoon in Paris, and of how cliché it seems now but how beautiful it was at the time, as they laughed together, fell over in the snow, how the restaurant owner let them sleep in there through the night because it was too dangerous to get back to the hotel and, Kurt adds, was so impressed by Kurt's French.

It takes a while, and Blaine keeps asking questions and losing track, just as expected, but Kurt knows somewhere, even if just for a moment, Blaine has the sand grains of the memories back once more.

* * *

><p>That afternoon, they drive to the hospital, go to the dispensary and collect a small box with the words Klonopin (Clonazepam) printed across it.<p>

To Kurt, the corridors are all too familiar, long and dizzying and uniform.

To Blaine, each footstep is new, an imprint in fresh snow.

Maybe not having a memory can be a good thing sometimes. Not having to think. Just able to dream.

* * *

><p>They eat dinner, Kurt gives Blaine his medication, and they fall asleep together, Kurt's arm around Blaine's waist.<p>

They wake up exactly the same way the next morning.

* * *

><p>Blaine is much calmer the next day.<p>

It feels like relief.

But not for long.

* * *

><p>The next day, Blaine's in tears. He's incessant and won't stop and maybe he can't stop and Kurt can do nothing and the world seems bitter once more.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>Rachel, hello. I'm sorry I've not been answering recently. A lot's been going on. Really? Really? Finn told you? Well then. Hey, Blaine, Blaine, it's okay. Shh, sweetie, it's okay. Sorry, Rach, there's just a lot going on at the moment. Yes, visit if you want, but Blaine's not in a good place right now. Sure, sure, that'll be fine. Okay? See you later. Bye, Rach."<em>

* * *

><p>Rachel phones at just before midday.<p>

She's at their house by one.

Something about the traffic in the city centre being not so bad at this time of day and being able to get out fast.

* * *

><p>"Who are you?"<p>

Rachel is taken aback by Blaine's words. She knows Blaine isn't recognising people, but somehow, experiencing it first hand is very different.

"I'm Rachel, Blaine. I was your friend in High School, and we moved to New York together."

"No we didn't. I've been asleep, not in New York. I don't know you."

"But Blaine, you do. We lived together for years until you married Kurt, and you've been my friend since you were in Sophomore year."

"I haven't met you before in my life! Stop telling me that I have!"

"Blaine - !"

"No! Kurt, what's she doing here? Why's she lying to me? Go away!"

"Sing to him, Rachel, try it," Kurt hisses into her ear frantically.

"No, Blaine, woah there! Okay, sing, sing sing sing. How about, okay. Let's try this. Blaine,  
><em>tonight, tonight, it all began tonight<br>__I saw you and the world went away  
><em>_tonight, tonight, there's only you tonight  
><em>_what you are, what you do, what you say"_

And the tension seems to drain from the air, as two, then three voices replace it.

"_tonight, all day i had the feeling  
><em>_a miracle could happen  
><em>_I know now it was right  
><em>_for here you are  
><em>_and what was just a world is a star  
><em>_tonight"_

"You go make some tea for us, Rachel. You know where everything is. I just don't want Blaine to be left alone."

Rachel leaves the room quickly, eyeing Blaine nervously as soon as they stop singing.

* * *

><p>They sit together, talk, drink, while Blaine tries to follow a conversation.<p>

But he quickly becomes frustrated and descends into tears once more.

"I think you should leave, Rachel. I'm sorry."

* * *

><p>That afternoon, Kurt just holds Blaine while he shakes for a reason that no one will ever be able to unfold.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

It doesn't get much better.

The crying, anyway.

Kurt can't decide what's worse; the mania, or the drowning.

* * *

><p>They go to see Professor Buckham at the time they'd agreed.<p>

Kurt makes sure Blaine holds his hand as they walk through the New York City streets, just in case Blaine decides to run off again, despite the calm from the Clonazepam. Though Kurt wonders if that can truly be called calm.

"Hello Kurt, Blaine. It's good to see you. This is Professor Buckham, and she's going to assess Blaine today."

"Assess?" Blaine wonders.

"It's nothing to worry about. Just a few little tasks, and a couple of scans. Is that okay?"

"Your voice sounds funny," Blaine tells her innocently.

"My accent? I'm from England. I came over here to take my postgrad and loved it, so I stayed and started working here," she smiles. Kurt likes her. She seems patient and friendly.

"Shall we get started then?" Doctor Smith asks, and leads Blaine along the corridor.

"You can stay in here, Kurt. We shouldn't be too long, and we'll update you as necessary."

* * *

><p>Kurt waits, flicks through a copy of an eaten Vogue, sips water from the cooler, and worries.<p>

* * *

><p>When the door opens, Kurt jumps up, waiting for Blaine to run into his arms once more.<p>

But it's only Doctor Smith.

"Kurt, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Then we can talk about Blaine's care."

"Oh – okay."

He takes the same seat once more.

"Kurt, have you informed Blaine's workplace about what's happened to him yet?

Work? Kurt had completely forgotten.

"No, I haven't yet. He's a teacher, they're on vacation right now."

"And what about your work?"

"I'm a freelance fashion writer. And I audition for shows from time-to-time. But I work from home almost every day."

"That's quite impressive. No wonder you've been able to care so well for him."

"I wouldn't say it's been going well, though."

"Why not?"

"Because he keeps crying. He's swinging from one extreme to another and I don't know how to deal with it. Rachel, our best friend, she came over the other day and he shouted at her, said he didn't recognise and her and told her to get out. He only calmed down when she started singing to him. But then we began a conversation, and he couldn't keep up and he just got frustrated and started crying again and it was a disaster! I have no idea what I'm doing and It's _hard."_

"When did the crying start? When you saw me a week ago you told me he was too energetic."

"Just after the first few Clonazepam doses."

"I see. That certainly corresponds to our results. We've found some frontal lobe damage on Blaine's scans, and emotional lability – that is, having unstable feelings– is common in people with similar conditions. The Clonazepam most likely increases these effects. We can reduce the dosage for you, which should make a difference. But some of it is natural. As the confusion lifts, so a reality sets in, something that is both uncomfortable and unfamiliar to a person, and it can be difficult to control. If you stand up and come with me, I'll show you Blaine's scans just while Professor Buckham finishes off the tests with him."

* * *

><p>She points out the CT, the MRI, the ones from the hospital and the new ones from today.<p>

The images are swirls of bruises, stars, split-open galaxies bleeding into the night. And Kurt just wants to reach out, finger through the folds, read the secrets, rediscover the names of the ghosts that haunt his mind. He aches to soothe the scars, the cracks, the cortex, the centres that hold everything Blaine has ever known and keeps it under lock and key. He wants to know the seas and cliffs and mountains and fields and worlds Blaine treasures inside, to set them free once more. Because without them, Blaine's mind is like an oyster, one with the pearl removed.

* * *

><p>A number of words race through his head. He doesn't understand all the terminology Doctor Smith uses, nor does he want to know. He won't admit it, but he's scared of what he could find out.<p>

Maybe some things are better off remaining secret, abandoned in a treasure chest where no one will remember them.

* * *

><p>But if he can't understand anything she says, he'll never have a chance of understanding Blaine.<p>

* * *

><p>Blaine, scared.<p>

Blaine, lonely.

Blaine, trapped in a moment-to-moment existence, where no instant connects to the next as the chain falls to pieces in his hands.

_Blaine, Blaine with the broken brain._

* * *

><p>Broken?<p>

Fractured?

Scarred?

Cracked?

Damaged?

Fragmented?

Shattered?

_But Broken?_

* * *

><p>A jigsaw, some of the pieces missing, somehow in the wrong box.<p>

* * *

><p>Sometimes, things are better off clouded by common ignorance, known only to those who can understand the complexities of what makes us exist.<p>

* * *

><p>In the corridor, they can hear someone running and crying.<p>

It's a sound that's become all too familiar in the past few weeks.

* * *

><p>They bring Blaine into the office, settle him down, give him a tissue, a cup of water, let him fall once again into the arms of his husband.<p>

"Is this common?" Professor Buckham asks.

"It wasn't at first, but now, yes. Doctor Smith explained it all to me. Emotional liability, something like that."

"Lability."

"Emotional lability, yes," Kurt corrects himself.

"What needs to be sorted out is Blaine's care plan. You said he taught?"

"Yes. English."

"How understanding is his department at work?"

"He's head of department. But most of them are very nice. They'll be fine to provide support and all that."

"He won't need it. The likelihood that Blaine will ever be able to return is tiny. What date does the next semester start?"

"In a few weeks."

"You'll have to phone them as soon as you can. In fact, you could do it here. Let them speak to me, if you need to. And I can write a note to explain it all and send it to them."

"Right."

"So we'll do that once I've finished explaining everything. But there's more. You work from home most days, I take it?"

"Yes."

"That's going to make some things easier. If you still want to care for him fully, that is."

"I do. I'm not just going to leave him somewhere to be forgotten about."

"Kurt, he wouldn't be forgotten about - ,"

"No. I still want to do this myself. He needs someone around him, and I'm the only person he recognises, right? I can't leave him to some stranger while I get on with my life."

"I understand. And from what Clare has told me, you've been doing very well. The medication is helping greatly, and from what she told me when she visited you last week, he seems comfortable, at least at home. So keep doing what you're doing. In the meantime, I suggest that you find some way of exercising his remaining skills. I've heard about the singing, and you mentioned he can play other instruments?"

"The piano. And the cello. But he hasn't – not since he came back - "

"Leave it for now. I'll be coming with Clare at her next visit in two weeks, and we can have a go then. I'd like to see this, if that's okay with you?"

"Okay."

"And try some other things as well. He can still write. Maybe ask him to keep a diary if he can, record his thoughts. It will help preserve as much normal function as possible."

"Is that it?"

"Is there anything else you'd like to ask me?"

"No. No thank you."

"Do you know the number for Blaine's workplace?"

"Yes."

"Come with me, and we can do this call then."

Kurt removes his fingers from where they've laced into Blaine's hair, pats him on the shoulder, gives him a weak smile.

"Where are you going, Kurt?" Blaine chokes through the tears.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, sweetie, okay?"

* * *

><p>It's the hardest phone call he's ever had to make.<p>

Professor Buckham stands by his side, runs her thumb across the parched back of his hand in an attempt to comfort him. There are tears, words captured at the back of his throat, a mind full of condolences that mean nothing. Kurt doesn't want condolences. He just wants Blaine.

* * *

><p>When he returns to the office, he finds Clare holding Blaine's hand.<p>

"Kurt! You're back! I've missed you so much!"

It's astonishing, how the tears can suddenly stop, how Blaine can run across the room, lift Kurt from his feet, spin him around and hold him, just in a moment where maybe everything might be okay.

"We'll see you in two weeks. It was lovely to meet you both."

"Thank you Doctor Smith, Professor."

* * *

><p>As soon as they get back out onto the street, the tears start again.<p>

Kurt helps Blaine to perch on the wall outside of the clinic, holds on as he cries.

People keep staring at them. Two grown men sat like birds on a brick wall in the middle of a busy street, one crumbling beneath the weight of tears.

Kurt doesn't get it.

People had accepted the euphoria as part of the real him, the real Blaine, but what about the grief? Surely that was just as real.

"What's wrong, Blaine? Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't."

"It's okay, please Blaine, just tell me." Kurt can feel his own voice cracking under the pressure.

He pulls his journalism pad out from the old place in his pocket, unclips the pen, hands it to Blaine who shakes trying to hold it.

"Write it down, please? I want to know. I want to _understand_."

Slowly, Blaine manages to form the letters, then drops the pen and paper onto the sidewalk.

Kurt picks it up and reads the six words spilled onto the page.

_i am completely incapable of thinking_


	8. Chapter 8

So this is what it feels like.

It's not a cage, a prison, a brick wall of frustration.

It's not a timer as the sand slips from beneath your feet.

It's nothing.

It's all-consuming blackness which comes with the sunset but won't allow the light to rise again. It's a vacuum, an empty space stretching to the limits of the universe, contained solely in one mind.

_And in space, no one can hear you scream._

* * *

><p>They drive home together in a moment where no words come between them, and then they sit at home and cry for the rest of the evening, holding each other, desperate, aching not to let go, because without each other, they have nothing now.<p>

* * *

><p>Blaine falls asleep quickly that night.<p>

Kurt is left to think.

His husband is incapable of thinking. Or so he understands.

He doesn't know what went on with Professor Buckham earlier that day, what caused him to shout, break down, run away. But he can't think. His thoughts come to nothing. That's all Blaine knows of his existence now.

Kurt climbs from the bed, takes Blaine's organiser from the shelf. All the dates saved, recorded in a swirl of neat, steadfast handwriting.

_STAFF MEETING_

_START OF SEMESTER_

_REMEMBER__: check up on LR_

_Meet Rach for coffee __ CANCELLED_

_RACHEL'S NEW SHOW STARTS __thanks for the underline Rachel _no problem! it's an important date!

_HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!_

_HAPPY SORT-OF ANNIVERSARY!_

Of course Blaine would mark on both the marriage and the blessing. Of course he would.

But would he celebrate a date he doesn't even know existed?

* * *

><p>That night, he doesn't sleep.<p>

He just thinks and remembers.

* * *

><p>In the morning, as the etchings of sunlight appear through the curtain, he rolls over, takes Blaine's fingers in his, knots into his hair, kisses his cheek softly, waking, <em>'til true love's first kiss…<em>

_In ageless sleep, he finds repose. The years roll by. But a hundred years, to a steadfast heart, are but a day…_

Blaine stirs, and the day begins again.

* * *

><p>As they promised, Doctor Smith and Professor Buckham come back two weeks later.<p>

Blaine's a little confused, a little wary, new people in an environment that he only can associate with Kurt. He eyes them, holds Kurt's hand a little tighter than normal.

"Blaine, we heard you're very talented at music. We'd like you to play your piano for us, if you wouldn't mind."

"I'm sorry, but I think you've got the wrong person. I've never played a piano in my life."

But he still follows Kurt through the house to the music room, where their instruments lie untouched. A cello in a case gathering dust. A drum kit they kept for Finn, who never returned for them. A large grand piano, one of their little extravagances, somewhat faded from lack of use.

Kurt selects Blaine's old music book, flicks to a page, finds a piece. Blaine stares at it.

"How do you expect me to play that?"

"Have a go for us? Please?"

Wordlessly, Blaine settles down on the piano bench, lifts the lid, tentatively presses a key. Then he settles his hands down, finds a path through the music, matches the notes to notes and seems lost, the music bleeding from a fresh wound in a twisted form of art.

He sinks amongst the phrases that pull him from the depths of drowning and up up up up to dizzying, spiralling heights and further through stars and galaxies and universes and worlds unknown. Each chord, each cadenza speaks a new word, and the textures weave fine plots together as an epic poet crafts his final masterpiece. This is an Odyssey, an Aeneid, a Ulysses but so, so much more.

_There's a place we used to go…chrysanthemums sparkling with white, the fragments of roses littering the ground. I remember it well. The place where we'd kiss and touch and laugh and we'd be whole again. This is our safety. It seems so beautiful. I'd pick out lavender, lilies, tulips, sweet droplets of jasmine as we dream, dream together, of what we are, the blazing futures we could have. We could have been anything, Blaine._

And, for a moment, this is the Blaine that Kurt knows and loves. The one who whispers to him every night how glad he was to have met him on the staircase, how strong, how loved he is. The one who held his hand at a wedding, danced with him, kissed him in the snow, in the sun, in the rain, through the fog.

But a song always has to end. There's a diminuendo, a mezza di voce, or, on the rare occasion, a crescendo which lifts and soars and screams.

* * *

><p>That afternoon, there are no more tears.<p>

Instead, a quiet calm settles around the house like snow, and they sit and hold each other and rediscover the new places they thought they'd lost.

Just for a second, Blaine knows them again.

* * *

><p>When they climb together into bed that evening, it's a different picture.<p>

Blaine's tears are in full force, vicious and biting and tearing like an animal into Kurt's very heart.

Of course Kurt stays with him, strokes his hair, reassures him until he falls asleep.

_I love you, you're safe, I'm here, it's okay._

_Blaine, sweetheart, I can make you feel again. _

And of course Kurt cries as well.

* * *

><p>Emotional lability, that is, laughing and crying easily, can be indicative of frontal lobe damage, or so Doctor Smith had said. Blaine had the damage, but they both showed the symptoms.<p>

* * *

><p>His fingers shake as he dials the phone number.<p>

"Dad, Dad, are you there?"

"He's asleep. Kurt, you okay? Your voice sounds kinda funny - "

"Finn, what are you doing? I just needed to talk to Dad, okay? I'll call back in the morning."

"No, Kurt. You don't sound too good. You wanna talk?"

"It's fine. I can wait."

"No, you can't. Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

"I just – oh, God, Finn – it's just so _hard._ I'm so, so scared. Is this what my life is going to end up being? Me holding my husband while he spends his life in tears and not able to remember his own friends' faces? His own wedding? _What he looks like? _It's all I have left and I don't know if I _can, _Finn. I - "

"Wait- hey, Kurt, shh, it's okay. Are you sitting down?"

"Yeah."

"What I want you to do is put your knees up, curl them up to your chest and wrap your free arm around them. Now, imagine that I'm there, that I'm the one holding you, or, if you don't want me, then your Dad or someone like that. Anyone who makes you feel safe."

"'Kay"

"Now, let your brother say what he has to say, and then you can talk. When we were in Senior year, you two were like, the power couple of the Glee club. If you guys couldn't stay together, the rest of us had no hope. Well, you and Mike and Tina as well, anyway. It was only gonna be a matter of time before you guys tied it, and, well, you did. And that was an amazing wedding. You love him more than anything, Kurt, and he loves you back. Even when we were there a few weeks ago, the way he still looked at you, like you were the most amazing thing he's ever seen. And it's pretty sweet."

"But Finn, I just don't know what to do - "

"You said there were options, right? Your doctor gave you some pamphlets about places. If you can't cope, there's always the choice."

"No! I'm not locking him away. I'm not leaving him to a stranger who doesn't care about him. He won't waste away in one of those nightmare-white rooms while I'm out here pretending as if nothing's ever happened! I pledged my_ life_ to him, Finn, and I'm not going back on that promise."

"But Blaine wants what's best for you too, Kurt. If he understood how much you're hurting, he'd want you to do what makes you the happiest."

"Being with him makes me happy."

"So you won't consider it?"

"Not at all. I'm not going to abandon him. Not now."

"That's great, Kurt. How do you feel now?"

"Better. At least, not as bad. Thanks, Finn."

"No problem. You still wanna talk to Dad?"

"No, not right now. Maybe tomorrow, if I want. Night night."

"Love you, Kurt."

"You too, Finn."


	9. Chapter 9

Things get better.

Of course they do.

It just needs the Mistress Time to break you.

She'll be kind, soon enough.

* * *

><p>Blaine finds solace in the music, the shroud of notes to keep him safe. Within the next few weeks, the tears subside as he clutches a bow in his hands, crafts a note in the air, captures a breath between words of long-missed melodies.<p>

It's where he can think again. Where he can _feel _again.

_Oh, he just wants to feel again._

* * *

><p>A purple envelope falls through a door a few days later. Kurt doesn't recognise the writing.<p>

But he opens it anyway.

It's a picture of a puppy in a basket, a thermometer in its mouth and a blanket wrapped over him. Kurt thinks it's rather cute.

A caption along the bottom reads:

_Sorry that you're sick  
><em>_Hope you get well quick!..._

(Kurt notices the dots have been drawn on with a dark marker pen, and quickly flips the card over to find the words hidden amongst the map of signatures)

_...We can't rhyme very well  
><em>_But at least you get to play "nurses" with Kurt, you lucky asshole!  
><em>_(Yes, literally!)_

_Get well soon!_

It's accompanied with a little stick-figure drawing of Blaine lying in a bed with his tongue out, and Kurt leaning over him, his ass exaggerated, and Kurt can't help but laugh for a moment, because the last time he'd been ill, Blaine _had_ insisted on _just one more day _and Kurt had gone along with it because he'd finished all his articles and the rewards he'd gotten at the end were _definitely _worth it.

But now –

It's different now.

It's not as if Blaine's going to remember what they're doing.

Gone are the days when they'd just spend it in bed and take their time. When they'd share the closeness and the warmth and feel each other's heartbeats like tattoos on each other's ears. And Kurt will probably be playing nurse for the rest of his life now...

Suddenly, this game doesn't seem anywhere near as fun anymore.

* * *

><p>The more he considers the card, the more Kurt misses the intimacy.<p>

He longs for the touch, for a press of lips that's more than a swift whisper, for meadows, for prairies of skin and the oceans of eyes and the half-moon spine and waxing-crescent wrist and a new galaxy of a forgotten bruise and a shifting orbit as they move together.

The change in gravity, the stars forming and burning each time with the hot sparks inside of them, the bright shock of pleasure they didn't know they could make someone else feel.

It's the perfect limits of their bodies that he wants to find again.

* * *

><p>It's the limits of his mind now instead.<p>

* * *

><p>He loves Blaine more than anything. That's all he has to tell himself.<p>

It's going to keep them going.

In the first steps of adulthood, Kurt had thought love was about passion and intimacy and surprise red roses on the doorstep, grand gestures and statements of hyperbole that could never come true but they'd at least try to make it so.

But now he knows what love it. Love is the look on your husband's face when he sees you for what he thinks is the first time in years, how he nearly knocks you off your feet with the force of his jump into your arms to kiss you. The touch of the fingertips. The feeling that no matter how hard it gets, Kurt will always be there for Blaine, because Blaine is his everything, and Kurt is Blaine's everything and they're each other's everythings and that's all that matters.

* * *

><p>"<em>Merry Christmas, Darling."<em>

Kurt kisses Blaine's pulse as he wakes up first, and links a hand with his.

"Kurt." Blaine beams sunshine.

"It's Christmas, Blaine."

"Happy Christmas, Kurt. I love you."

* * *

><p>They'll share a sandwich lunch, but pull a cracker or two to add a little more fun into it all. They tell each other bad jokes, and laugh, and Kurt puts a paper hat on Blaine's head that he'll wonder a minute later how it got there.<p>

Afterwards, they go to the music room, bash out songs on the piano, a few old favourites. Blaine can get through The First Noel, Away In A Manger, God Rest Ye Merry, Gentleman and One In Royal David's City with ease.

Then they spend the day holding each other on the couch, humming carols beneath their breath, their fingers laced. And in that moment, just still and quiet, they know that they'll always return to each other, because right there, in each others' arms, just lying next to each other, that's become home to them.

* * *

><p>There are two presents under the tree this year.<p>

Under the soft glow of the candles, Kurt hands Blaine a parcel that he unwraps to reveal a smart, leather-bound diary. Blaine kisses Kurt and thanks him while he can still remember the sentiment.

* * *

><p>Kurt waits to open his present until Blaine's gone to bed. With one candle left burning against the night, he tears open a small box, peels away bubble wrap and smiles before placing the framed photograph of him and Blaine on the mantelpiece.<p>

_Merry Christmas, Kurt._

He stares at it for a few moments before blowing out the candle.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Kurt decides that Blaine needs to start using his diary as soon as possible. And by as soon as possible, he means today.<p>

* * *

><p>"Blaine? Can you write down something? How you feel?"<p>

They're sitting at the desk in their bedroom that they used to share, as Blaine struggles to get the pen held correctly between his fingers.

"I don't know."

"Try it. For me?"

"Try what?"

"Writing something."

"How long have I been ill, Kurt?"

"For months."

"Is that F-O-R or F-O-U-R months?"

"The first one."

"The first what?"

"Write down how you feel, Blaine. Have a go."

The first stroke of the ink is a little tentative, and Kurt doubts his choice to use Blaine's old fountain pen in case he breaks it, but slowly, Blaine forces out a line, fresh on the pages of his new diary.

Kurt walks around, places a hand on Blaine's shoulder, thumbing the fabric subconsciously and reads the first thought in Blaine's head:

_I DO LIVE!_

* * *

><p>And suddenly Kurt's laughing, laughing because Blaine is still here, Blaine is his and Blaine doesn't know why Kurt's laughing but he's happy, his Kurt is happy and so he laughs too, and they're in each others' arms where all they know is home and maybe just maybe everything might be okay.<p>

* * *

><p>Not good.<p>

Not great.

But okay.

And okay is the best either of them can hope for right now.

* * *

><p>Kurt shows Doctor Smith the pages of Blaine's journal on her next visit.<p>

Each page is a mess, a puzzle of lines and forgotten words and edits for each new existence Blaine knows.

_I AM WELL AND TRULY AWAKE_

_I AM MOST DEFINITELY AND COMPLETELY AWAKE_

_I AM MOST SUPERLATIVELY AND ENTIRELY AWAKE_

And then he spots an old phrase at the bottom of January 10th. One that still haunts him – and Blaine too.

_I am completely incapable of thinking._

* * *

><p>Doctor Smith decides to set Blaine another task on the same day.<p>

She hands him a piece of paper, which he leans on the coffee table.

"Blaine, I want you to just fill in the first thing that comes into your head when you read each statement. Take your time."

He bends over in concentration, scratching across the sheet as Kurt and Doctor Smith sit beside him.

He finishes the list in two minutes, hands it over.

Kurt leans in to read Blaine's answers.

* * *

><p>Something courageous<br>_My husband_

Something tragic  
><em>The death of a loved one<em>

Something that hurts your ears  
><em>A high unturned note<em>

Something unpleasant  
><em>Me<em>

Something bitter  
><em>Me<em>

Something loving  
><em>My husband<em>

Something that has to be renewed  
><em>Promise<em>

Something stiff  
><em>Concrete mind<em>

Something that changes shape  
><em>Painter<em>

Something that should be insured  
><em>My life<em>

Something that needs to be planned  
><em>A town development<em>

Something that needs to be repeated  
><em>Good music<em>

Something comical  
><em>My seriousness<em>

Something that has springs  
><em>Every year<em>

Something that might expire  
><em>My heart<em>

Something that tastes sweet  
><em>Honey<em>

Something extinct  
><em>My ability<em>

Something dangerous  
><em>My humor<em>

Something fake  
><em>My humor<em>

Something you enjoy doing  
><em>Kissing<em>

Something habit-forming  
><em>Kissing<em>

Something wider than it is high  
><em>My stupidity<em>

* * *

><p>No one knows what to say.<p>

"What are you two reading?" Blaine asks.

* * *

><p>"Kurt, you remember Professor Buckham?"<p>

"Of course I do. What about her?"

"She's having some people over from England for a conference. All psychologists, professors, some people she used to study with. And she was wondering if you would mind having them meet Blaine? She's taken a great interest in his condition – I've been passing some of the information on, just as you said I could - and she was hoping that you wouldn't mind - "

"When and where?"

"It's in a few weeks times. I don't know the exact date. But it could be anywhere you felt comfortable. We could go to the clinic again, or they could even come here if you like. Just to meet Blaine."

"I think that could be – arranged. I can ask Blaine now and get an answer - "

"Do you think he'd consent? Even if he did, he wouldn't remember it."

"I know that, but for now, at least?"

* * *

><p>"Blaine, I've just been talking to Doctor Smith - "<p>

"Who?"

"A doctor. What she'd like to know is if you'd mind having some of her friends come to visit you."

"What friends? I don't even know this person."

"She's your doctor, Blaine."

"No she's not. I've never seen a doctor in my life."

"Blaine – please, I'd just like some of my friends to visit you. They know all about you."

"Why do they? I'm not famous."

"No, but I've told them about you. Everything I know about you. But I'd like them to see you for themselves."

"Who?"

"My friends, Blaine. Blaine – what – where are you going? No, Blaine, calm down, it's okay."

"Blaine, stop it. Come here. Sit down."

"No one is coming to see me. No one would want to see me!"

"Blaine, they just want to talk to you. I've been telling them all about you, what I've noticed about you - "

"I said _no. _No one is coming to see me. _I am not an experiment!"_

And then Blaine's kicking and yelling and throwing punches and Kurt's holding him back and struggling against the ropes of safety and there's crying and a shatter of glass and Doctor Smith is on the floor and there's blood_ oh God there's blood_ and Blaine's in his arms and he's crying over something he doesn't even know any more.


	10. Interlude: from the outside looking in

Kurt settles Blaine down on the sofa gently, holds him, while Clare raises the back of her hand to her forehead, discovers the world of blood and emotion seeping from a cut. (Kurt notes it's one of Aunt Mildred's old ones – lucky!)

Soon, Blaine's tears subside, and Kurt helps him upstairs after a quick "I'll be down again soon. You want something for that cut – oh, yes, you do need something. Give me a few minutes. Take the sofa. Just try not to bleed on it, okay? I won't be long."

She stands up doe-legged, a little uneasy, a little shaken, takes in the disruption she caused. China covers the floor, and she notes the sharp edge of the fragment that cut her forehead. She can feel the tear in her skin, the barrier broken, and it fascinates her. It's a glimpse of what she is, of what makes her, of what makes everyone.

From doctors like herself, to intellectuals, to artists like Kurt, to professors and their students, to builders and body-builders and rebuilders and the old and the young and the homeless and the desperate to those in the heights of ecstasy, all somehow fitting into the jigsaw of human life with the same textures and tones and things that link us all, down to the basics of flowing through the veins of history. And then there's Blaine.

What is Blaine?

What _is _Blaine?

* * *

><p>She allows Kurt to tend to her, wincing as he dabs at the area with cotton wool before covering it with a plaster.<p>

"You sure this is okay? You don't need stitches or anything?"

"I doubt it. It'll heal eventually. And I don't want to drive to the hospital right now anyway, considering I've just come from there." She smiles faintly, adds a small laugh. "Where's Blaine now?"

"Asleep. He needs to calm down. I'm really sorry about what happened earlier; he just gets like that sometimes. When he doesn't understand. Our friend Rachel came over, just when he first came home, and he didn't recognise her and he got so upset. Then she sang to him, and that helped, but then we all started talking again and because he didn't know what was going on, he just got more and more frustrated."

"It's perfectly normal, Kurt. And for someone intellectual such as Blaine, it can often be worse. You know the feeling, when someone tries to get you to understand something that you know is simple, but something just _blocks _you, and it feels like this spring inside of you is just winding tighter and tighter and then it just, well, snaps? And I'm sorry about your vase as well. Something special? I can give you something as a replacement if you'd like - "

"No, no, it's fine. It was my Aunt's, and I never liked her that much."

"But it was a nice vase - "

"Honestly, it's fine. I have more important things to take care of - ," Kurt tells her, not all quite there.

"Like Blaine?"

"Like Blaine."

* * *

><p>She settles down at her laptop that evening, opens the document titled <em>Blaine Anderson Report and Findings, <em>scrolls through the previously-typed pages of her research paper before unfolding Blaine's answers from earlier.

A mug of tea whispers at her side and she sits in the darkness, the curtains closed, and types out her latest findings. She notes how Blaine's humour remains, the self-depreciation to his answers and the lack of self-esteem due to his "_incapability of thinking_", as he refers to it himself.

She greets her husband when he walks in, allows him to kiss her on the cheek, ask about the cut, before slipping away again with yet another, "I'll be late to bed, darling. Go without me."

* * *

><p>The night stretches on, pulled by caffeine and determination to write more, to get this paper finished.<p>

At some point, she types out an email to the Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience, telling them she'll have it finished in two weeks after one more visit.

Eventually, she shuts the computer down, climbs into the opposite side of the bed to her husband and shuts her eyes.

The clock reads 03.47.

* * *

><p>She's awake again at 06.38.<p>

The same routine; bathroom to wash, brush teeth (and change the dressing on her forehead, inspect the cut through hazy eyes), back to the bedroom to dress as quietly as possible, a flask of tea, money to buy a croissant on the way to work, briefcase, check files, keys, phone, and out of the door.

* * *

><p>By the time her husband wakes up, she's long-gone, and her side of the bed is left cold.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>To:<strong> mdesposito[at]univerditycalifornia. edu**  
><strong>**From: **claresmith[at]gmail. com**  
><strong>**Subject: **JCN Submission: Final report  
><strong>Attachments: <strong>_IncapableOfThinking JCN. docx_

Mr D'Esposito,

Please accept my final submission for the Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience: _Incapable of Thinking: An observation into the effects of severe memory loss on cognitive processes and emotional expression._

Clare Smith

* * *

><p>"I finished my paper," she tells her husband, trying and failing to disguise the pride in her voice.<p>

"Well done. How about we have a celebration? Dinner, tomorrow night? We'll go somewhere nice," he hints, full of promise as he welcomes her into his arms, an embrace all too familiar to both of them.

She answers into his shirt, "I can't. I'm on night shift."

"That's okay? Another night? Sometimes in the next week?"

"I don't know if I can. Let me check my diary." She pulls away too fast. "No, I've got either nights or on-call most days, and I'll be feeling awful the day I'm not on."

"Oh," is all he can say. "Well, how about a little thing tonight? I'll cook something nice, open some wine?"

"Yeah." She nods. "Yeah, that sounds nice," she adds, a little more conviction in her voice.

* * *

><p>That night is the first in a long time where they rediscover the kiss, the touch, the heartbeat.<p>

Their bodies, long-foreign, find the old rhythm, retrace old routes, note the landmarks, the web and thread and mess of veins, meadows of skin, the rivers, oceans of eyes, hills and valleys and the old familiar.

But by the time they're finished, broken apart, and he's whispering, "I love you," she's already asleep.

* * *

><p>"Where's Blaine?"<p>

"Asleep."

"I sent the paper to the journal. I'm hoping for it to be published soon."

"You finished it?"

"Yep. All ten thousand words of it."

"Impressive! Well done," Kurt congratulates her, holding his arms out tentatively. She pauses for a moment, before stepping into the embrace and smiling, and suddenly she gets a glimpse to just why Blaine's love for Kurt stays as strong as it does; Kurt is safety. Kurt stays strong, steady as monument when the rest of the world is falling through the cracks in time. When the walls start to melt, the clocks twist like Dali, the money slips through fingers – because, really, it's of as much value as any old piece of paper - the very darkness bleeds and scratches and scars and screams, Kurt is a star burning. And it's not much, but in this chaos, this ever-infinite-spinning world, it's everything.

* * *

><p>"Kurt, would you mind me asking you about Professor Buckham's friends? Their visit is next week, and, well, the last time I asked Blaine, well - ." She points to the steadily healing cut on her forehead to exemplify her point.<p>

She doesn't add that she's emailed them all a copy of her paper before it's even been published, and that's they'd all responded with interest, that they all hoped to see her (and Blaine included!) very soon. And where did Kurt stand in all this? No one had made mention of the KH in the report. None expressed a desire to meet him, not a person who would actually remember their faces, their names, play the perfect host no doubt while they suffocate BA, to whom they would forever remain a mystery.

"I know. Personally, I'm okay with it, I think. It could help in some way, right? Advance research or something? I don't know a lot about it, but it could? But it all depends on Blaine, really. The Blaine I used to know would have said yes in an instant. You know he was a teacher? Do you know why he chose that profession?"

"No - "

"Because he wanted to make a difference. Because he wanted to _help _people. Because he loved getting up every day knowing that he had the chance to change a life. To widen a mind. To implant that one seed of inspiration into someone that could grow into something beautiful somewhere in the future.

"That's the Blaine I know and love. One who wants to help, and help as many people as possible, and even now, he could do that, right? Please say he can. Please."

Kurt's imploring her, his eyes low-lit and fixated, tears starting to form at the corners like drops of blood drawn from a needle, desperate for an answer, for something to tell him this isn't all a waste of time, of his everything –

"I hope so, Kurt."

"You _hope? You hope? _

"Remember those nights in hospital, those first few weeks? I was a mess. I was broken. And the one thing that got me through then is hoping he'd get better. Not prayer, not wishing on shooting stars, I just _hoped_, hoped he'd be okay. I had this one thought, this one goal, that he'd be okay, and now – look what I've got! Look at this existence! It's less than nothing.

"You see what he writes in his diary. How happy he is to be alive followed by how _he doesn't know he can think! _How can someone live for _anything _when they don't even know that they can _think? _The most basic, but the most complex of human functions that make us able to deal with our stupid lives, and his understanding is that he no longer has that ability? What does that make him? Isn't he human anymore?

"You can see yourself just how much he hates this. He hates believing that he's good for nothing. That he can't help anyone. And I thought maybe, just maybe, he _might _recover, even if just a little bit, gain some kind of understanding. But no. It's been nearly a year now, and we've got nowhere. And I've watched it all. I've seen how the only times he can ever truly be properly happy, when he can even feel anything at all, is when he's playing music that he'll forget as soon as his hands leave the keys or put down the bow or whatever, or he sees me. Not our best friend, not his parents-in-law and guess what, he has no parents because _they're fucking dead. _And he doesn't even know that.

"Don't you see now? Don't you see how much he hates this, feeling useless, feeling as insignificant as the – as the dust in the light? He'd rather be _dead_ than this. _I'd _rather he be dead than endure this sometimes. And he'll never know how close he came. He'll never know and - "

"Shh, Kurt, it's okay. Come here."

And they're in each other's arms, and they're both crying, and at this point, she feels closer to the raw, torn, unhealed scars of nerve endings than she's ever been, comes closer to knowing, just _knowing _and _feeling._

She can almost touch it.


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm sorry," Kurt chokes, as the full weight of everything he's just said falls inwards. "I haven't had a chance to - "

"Let your feelings out? Let go? Lose your responsibility for once?"

"Yeah, that. Not since he became ill."

"I had no idea how hard this has really been for you. Blaine, maybe. But not you. You always seem so – so _okay _with everything. I'm so, so sorry, Kurt," Clare comforts, her fingers in his hair, their heads bowed together, almost like lovers.

* * *

><p>The phone rings at quarter to eleven that night.<p>

Kurt almost doesn't hear it over Blaine, who's weaving his way around an Andante.

Quietly, he slips out to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Kurt, it's Clare."

"Oh, hey."

"How are you?"

"Fine. Better now, actually. Blaine is too. He's playing the piano again."

"Great – yes, sweetheart, I'm just checking that Kurt's okay – no, I'll talk to you about it later, just let me finish on the phone now – sorry, my husband. Anyway, I'm glad."

"How about you?"

"Better now I know you're okay. There's something I'll talk to you about next time I see you, which will be in a few days, so I can confirm or reject the visit as well. Anyway, I have to go now. Night, Kurt."

"Night, Clare. See you soon."

* * *

><p>When Kurt goes back in to hear the end of Blaine's piece, Blaine takes no notice. Not until after, when his face breaks like sunrise and his smile reminds Kurt of exactly why he's stayed behind.<p>

* * *

><p>"You said you had something to talk to me about?"<p>

"Yes, yes, I did. I've been thinking about what you told me the other day, about how you'd not had time for yourself since Blaine became ill. I was wondering if it would do you any good to go away for a few days. Go back home. See your family. And in the meantime, someone else could care for Blaine."

"Are you suggesting - ? Those pamphlets - ?"

"Are simply options. There could be other people as well who could help. There are other carers who could stay here, so Blaine wouldn't have to go anywhere. Or there might be a friend – Rachel, you say? Or someone from your family." She pauses for a moment, wondering whether to add the next part. "Or, I could do it. Only for a few days, mind you, but I could take time off work."

"But what about your husband? Your children?"

She laughs, only somewhat genuine. "Kids? None. Not yet, anyway. Maybe sometime in the future. My husband's getting pretty desperate."

"I'll think about it."

* * *

><p>He plans it over the next few days; drive to Lima, stay with his parents for two nights, then drive back via Westerville on the anniversary of Blaine's parents' death.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>To:<strong> khummelfreelance[at]hummel. com  
><strong>From: <strong>claresmith[at]gmail. com  
><strong>Subject: <strong>Final Arrangements (+ a little surprise!)  
><strong>Attachments: <strong>_JCN Copy Download. pdf_

Kurt,

Final arrangements for Friday:

Go to the clinic - 280 Madison Avenue, Suite 1402, New York, New York 10016 in case you don't remember, and we'll meet Professor Buckham at 2pm, after she's finished her briefing. She'll then brief us before we go in and meet the researchers – she expects six or so. No more, anyway.

I can't be certain what she wants until we get there. All she's said so far is _bring along Blaine's cello if possible. _

We shouldn't be more than a couple of hours, and of course, you will be there the whole time.

Also, attached is the published version of the Journal I submitted to. We're in!

See you on Friday,  
>Clare<p>

* * *

><p>Kurt knows the report as soon as he spots the title:<p>

"_Incapable of Thinking": An observation into the effects of severe memory loss on cognitive processes and emotional expression.  
><em>_Clare Smith_

* * *

><p>Already in the first paragraph, he's picked out four words he doesn't understand.<p>

He opens a second tab, finds a dictionary for the terms, and continues to read.

* * *

><p><em>The first indication we had of memory-related damage was upon BA's waking up, where he failed to identify a close friend and himself in a picture of a school reunion.<em>

* * *

><p>A picture; annotations of the drifting galaxies of Blaine's mind, the universe breaking apart with a shower of sparks...<p>

* * *

><p><em>Through the following days, it was noticed that only one person ever seemed to be at the forefront of BA's thoughts.<em>

_BA had met KH during High School, proceeded to move to New York with him, and the pair had then married. Throughout BA's illness, KH had stayed with him. The emotional connection between the two was so strong, so significant, that KH was the only person he could recognize._

* * *

><p><em>Despite the damage, BA retained a number of skills; his ability to read and write remained unimpaired, although he was unable to follow longer sentences. However, even more impressive was his musical ability. His skill on both the piano and the cello was not affected, and he handled complex pieces with ease. As well as this, he could recall melodies and lyrics to songs significant to him, such as the one played at his wedding ceremony.<em>

* * *

><p><em>One phrase stood out amongst all written in his diary, one which gives the closest possible insight into the reality BA experiences: I am incapable of thinking.<em>

* * *

><p>It takes him at least an hour to work his way through the pages, stopping to check foreign phrases on the way.<p>

When he finishes, finally, maybe he knows just a little more about what's going on inside Blaine's head.

Maybe.

* * *

><p>Kurt wakes up on Friday morning, his stomach tense.<p>

He helps Blaine to shave, lets him dress in peace, before fine-tuning his cello and preparing breakfast. They spend a morning in the music room, playing the piano, singing together, as Kurt tries to help Blaine relax, to be comfortable, to let any seed of anger or irritability drain away.

* * *

><p>"Blaine – shit, come back here Blaine!"<p>

The car stops in the middle of the road, the driver raising his fists, as Blaine stands lost, wondering at the setting around him. The driver loses patience quickly, starts beeping, the noise causing Blaine to start like an animal from danger.

Kurt runs out into the road, walks to the driver, shouts through the window.

"I'm sorry – my husband, he's ill, his memory - "

"Don't look ill to me, son. Just get him out of the road before I run the pair of you down."

They stare at each other through the window, the incredulous pane of glass, before Kurt nods, a hint of superiority, and takes Blaine's hand, leading him away from the band of car horns now sounding. They take a seat on the bench, Kurt's hand on Blaine's back. He's shaking.

"Blaine, sweetheart, are you okay?"

Blaine shakes his head, but can give no better answer.

* * *

><p>They arrive at the clinic five minutes late, only to be told by Dr Smith that Professor Buckham's running behind anyway, that she should be another five minutes or so, then –<p>

"Blaine – oh Kurt, is he alright?"

"He ran out into the middle of the road as we were coming here, nearly got knocked down. Then we got shouted at by a driver and there was a lot of noise and I think he's confused - "

"Oh, Blaine, it's okay. You're fine now." She eyes him kindly, notices how he tilts to the side a little to acknowledge her words, but keeps his gaze firmly on the floor, his hands twisting behind his back.

"Maybe if we asked if he could play first, assuming that's why she wanted us to bring this," he lifts the cello, still held tightly in his hand. "Playing generally tends to make him feel better."

A door opens from along the corridor. Blaine looks up, stares blankly at Professor Buckham as she approaches them, despite the warmth on her face. They shake hands, tentatively.

"I'm so pleased you could come. It's lovely to see you all again."

"You too, Professor."

"Today's not going to be very special or anything. What we're going to do is first, I'll introduce you to our visitors, then I'll use some of those tests we used with Blaine last time, then maybe, just before we go, Blaine could demonstrate his skills to us?"

"Actually, we were wondering if he could do that first? We were thinking it might help Blaine relax – obviously he'll be a bit nervous around so many unfamiliar people, and it makes him feel better."

"Of course. Shall we go in now and set up?"

* * *

><p>Blaine settles into playing Tchaikovsky's Valse Sentimentale with ease. Kurt holds the music, and, surrounded by the torchlights of eyes, he swirls a pattern of notes in the air, takes cues from the music, breathes in rhythm as he folds and stretches and curls and moulds the music to his own. And, as he works across the staves, he starts to relax, and to smile.<p>

The notes shiver in the air for a few moments before fading to applause.

* * *

><p>They are introduced to Professors Reynolds and Havers, Doctor Rollin and her research partner, Emily, to Doctor Cuningham and her husband, all of whom seem to be fascinated by Blaine's ability.<p>

As they ask questions, take notes, just observe, Kurt can only sit back in the corner, ready for the chance to jump in if needs be. Though Blaine can answer nearly every question, or Dr Smith can answer them for him.

Kurt wonders why he really needed to stay in amongst them in the first place.

* * *

><p>Blaine works through the list of statements again, giving answers, some new, some old, and hands it back before accepting a cup of coffee for a break.<p>

Emily has struck up a conversation with Professor Havers, and Blaine shuffles closer.

As they discuss their respective partners, Blaine can't help but ask questions. The same questions. The phrase "Blaine, you asked that just a minute ago", followed by the response "No I didn't", followed by a sigh, starts to come up far too often for Kurt's comfort, and he shifts in his seat, watches closely as the lines begin to draw on his forehead, and his eyes show the first flashes of panic.

"Blaine, I said Chelsea was a place in London, in England, not long ago."

"_No you didn't!"_

It's like the elastic band, pulled tighter and tighter, has finally snapped, and Blaine stands up and shouts unintelligibly, something burning inside, and Kurt's at his side trying to calm him but he won't stop stop yelling and screaming and crying _oh the crying it hurts it hurts I don't know anymore _until Clare's at his other side and he's reduced to soft, pitifully childlike sobs as the rest of the room stares at them.

Some take their pens and begin to write.

* * *

><p>It's quickly that Clare takes the cello out of the case again, finds a new piece of music, hands the sheet to Kurt and the bow to Blaine who accepts it, along with a final kiss on the forehead. Kurt unfolds the music, Blaine lifts the instruments, and begins one of the many Primaveras.<p>

Now, more than ever, it's easy to see how music has become Blaine's repose, his safety, the one thread of his past life that he can cling to, whether he knows it or not. The playing is broken by the feelings he refuses to let slip in his day-to-day, within the routine of his normality that still comes new and fresh each day, and there's bright and dark and summer and winter and the endless stretches of time past to future all captured in this one present. The notes fall through the void, _through crimson stars and silent stars and tumbling nebulas like oceans set on fire, through empires of glass and civilizations of pure thought and a whole, terrible, wonderful universe of impossibilities._

"Oh, look, Kurt, we have an audience."

* * *

><p><em>I've not said this for a while, but thank you so, so much to every one of you who continues to read, comment, like and enjoy this! Whether you've stumbled across this for the first time, or comes back at each update, thank you for taking the time to read. <em>

_The next chapter will be split into two halves - A and B, as the narrative breaks between two places in parallel time. I will still most likely update one next week, and one the week after, as I'm falling a little behind on my writing and although I'd love to post them both at the same time, it would most likely mean that within a few weeks, I'd be unable to update regularly as I am now, which would not be so good. So that's the plan._

_Thank you all, and see you next week!_


	12. Chapter 12: Part I

_Dear Finn,_

_Thank you for offering to do this. It means a lot to me._

_Everything you should need to know will be detailed below, though, if you needed anything else, feel free to phone me, and I'll do my best to answer._

_First of all, don't panic. Whatever happens, I'll be back in a few days. _

_This is going to be strange for Blaine – something new, and I don't know how well he'll react. If he ever becomes tense, or angry, or panicked for whatever reason, take him to the music room, get him started on playing something. If it becomes urgent, start singing right then and there, and make it an old song, something he'll know. If in doubt, resort to One Hand, One Heart. That should help him to relax._

_The music is also good for Blaine generally. So get him to play during the day, whenever. _

_Second, Clare (his doctor – you met her at the hospital) has said to get Blaine writing in his diary as much as possible, particularly over these few days. She's not due for a visit, but her number is right by the phone if you need it._

_Thirdly, I didn't know how you'd feel about sharing a bed with Blaine, but he needs to be kept close at night, in case he wakes up and wanders out. There's a chance of that happening, and if he gets out onto the road, it won't be good. Anyway, if you don't want to share the bed with him, if you're uncomfortable with that in any way, I've left a made-up mattress and some bedding in the spare room. Feel free to take that into our room and sleep on the floor. That should be okay, comfortable enough. As long as you're with Blaine. You don't need to stay with him for the whole twenty four hours – if he's sleeping during the day, you can leave him, but don't leave the house without him._

_Finally, _keep calm. _No matter what happens, don't fret, don't lose control, because otherwise that will affect Blaine too. _

_Here's a shorter version:_

_Music when he gets anxious  
><em>_Keep playing during the day  
><em>_KEEP CALM  
><em>_Keep diary  
><em>_Sleep in bed in room  
><em>_Clare's no. by phone_

_I know I'm asking a lot of you here, but you're the only person I trust to take care of him as well as he needs._

_I'll see you in a few days._

_All my love,  
><em>_Kurt_

* * *

><p>The drive to Lima takes nine hours.<p>

Kurt plays the radio as loud as he can while he drives along Route 80, treading the edge of the speed limit almost the whole way, trying to drown himself in sound.

* * *

><p>When he arrives on the front doorstep, he's sixteen again, and when his father opens the door, takes him into his arms, he clings on tight, like they're the only ones left.<p>

* * *

><p>They sit at the table, drinking tea, coffee, other beverage of choice, and they're talking and laughing about Finn's various failed relationships, the garage business, the latest at McKinley (they keep the newspaper cuttings if it's of any interest). The conversation is mundane and grey-everyday and just so <em>normal, <em>but to Kurt it feels like freedom. It feels like normality again.

* * *

><p>But if this is freedom now, what does that make his life with Blaine?<p>

* * *

><p>It's the last question hanging to his brain, trying to fight him away from sleep. But in the end, the gift of dreams creeps over him, and he falls once more into darkness.<p>

* * *

><p>He wakes up, drags himself downstairs to the sound of cooking, looks at the clock.<p>

It's 12.48. In the afternoon.

"Oh, sweetie, you must be so tired! I'm making lunch for us all, come on, sit down."

* * *

><p>Kurt knows who's stayed in Lima. And those who've come back.<p>

Brittany. Puck, just on the outside. Mike with Tina. Maybe some of the others too since.

He asks Burt for the phonebook, the list of numbers, makes a few phone calls, then drives out.

* * *

><p>It's been years since he's seen them. Even spoken to them. Of course there's Facebook and phones and email and all that, but not since the reunion had he really known what they were doing. Sometimes Tina posts pictures with Katie, who smiles and waves oblivious, and sometimes Mike smiles in the background, or updates on his course, makes faces out of the papers that cover his desk.<p>

And then there's Brittany, and Lord Tubbington probably knows how to work the internet more than she does.

* * *

><p>It's hugs and kisses and <em>good to see you <em>and _I've missed you _and _you look great! _and a whole general mess of pleasantries as they open the front door. Katie draws on what looks like an essay draft of Mike's, who tells Kurt how much he's enjoying his course, that he misses dancing but that there's no point sitting around waiting for fractured femur to heal when he could be doing something else like learning medicine and that when the course is over, he can decide if he wants to rejoin the world of dance or make a full career move into doctoring – and Kurt laughs with him because _doctoring._

Tina joins them a few minutes later, Brittany on her arm, and they kiss and hug and exchange pleasantries once again and Brittany tries to kiss him on the lips a bit full on and _no, Britt, this space is for Blaine,_ before she pulls away and mutters something about Kurt is still her favourite high school boyfriend.

And that's the only mention Blaine gets all day.

Everyone knows.

No one asks.

Kurt prefers it that way. Not thinking about it. Not when he's taking a break.

* * *

><p>It's good to see old friends again, to relive the old times, laugh about New Directions, and admire Katie's drawing of five-year-old awareness, and run through each of Brittany's boyfriends and girlfriends until she finds one that sticks, one who teaches at the same dance school she does, and they're happy and she wants to get married and for their cats to get married and then they can both have beautiful cat babies and baby babies and what if they're born on the same day wouldn't that be awesome?<p>

Kurt tells her to make sure he's invited to the wedding.

* * *

><p>Burt and Carole take them all out for a meal that evening. Brittany suggests Breadstix, but they were thinking of something nicer – especially when Brittany starts to tell them why breadsticks are so good, how once she was given too many so she and Santana had gone into the toilet and used them to <em>wait there Britt, that's enough, we can guess the rest.<em>

"Did you read my mind or just my diary?" she asks them.

In the end, they choose some kind of arty French chic place, where Kurt can enjoy something high-class and Katie can enjoy spaghetti, and everyone is kept happy. So cocktails are downed and wine flows and there's one coke for Katie then water or juice for the rest of the night, and though Mike holds a glass of wine to her lips for a sip, she takes one sniff and says how bad it smells and wonders why grown-ups like it so much.

* * *

><p>Kurt packs when he gets back home, ready for an early set-off.<p>

* * *

><p>He's up at six, eating breakfast by seven, waving goodbye by eight.<p>

The morning is strangely cold for summer, and there's static in the air, and their goodbyes hang heavy in their wake.

* * *

><p>There's something achingly familiar about the cemetery. Dark shadows creep across the ground, trees silhouetted against the sun. A patchwork of old and new, burning with the force of memories lost, of secrets kept, of frays of ends of webs of life.<p>

He takes the time to walk the legions, notes angels and crosses and the clichés of arching headstones, read the names of sons and daughters and cousins and husbands and wives and fathers and mothers.

* * *

><p>He locates the grave of Mr and Mrs Anderson somewhere in the sea of peace-slowed time, kneels down, traces the epitaph.<p>

_In Loving Memory  
><em>_George William Anderson  
><em>_1966-2021  
><em>_And his faithful wife  
><em>_Elizabeth Martha Anderson  
><em>_1968-2021_

_Per aspera ad astra  
><em>_Through difficulties to the stars_

It's all very neat, formal, as kept as it can be with Blaine living a day's drive away. Carved black marble, the odd neglected petal left littering the edges of the grass, and as the sun's heat slaps down on him, Kurt lays the flowers before the headstone.

"I don't know what Blaine did when he came here – he always liked to come alone. But when my mom died, I used to go and talk to her, and so did my dad, and it helped, so I hope I can talk to you, too."

Kurt takes a breath, gathers himself, tries to find the right words.

"I hope you don't find it strange or anything, me coming here. I mean, we didn't see each other much at all. A few times when Blaine and I were going out, our wedding – yeah, not many times at all. And this is the first time since your funeral that I've even visited the grave.

"I remember standing here in the rain, and Blaine just staring, completely numb, and I held his hand and he didn't even cry. He didn't cry at his own parents' funeral. He felt nothing. And I stayed there until his coat was soaked-through and ruined and he was shivering before I took him home and we didn't come back until a year later, or rather, Blaine didn't.

"I don't know if I believe in an afterlife or not. I don't think there's a God, but I'd like to think there is something more to this. A place for everyone. So I can imagine my mom smiling down at me, at my dad, and I know Blaine likes to think you're both there above him somewhere. It comforts him. Or rather, it comfort_ed_ him. But I don't know. I really don't.

"The thing is, if there isn't somewhere to go after all this, does that make everything meaningless? Are we worth nothing? Because if we are, why do we matter? Your son has lost his mind and I don't know what do but after all, what difference does it make? Why am I still there by his side every single day?

"It's because I love him. I love him more than anything and I hope you can see that. Blaine saved me in the worst time of my life, and what kind of husband would I be not to stay there through his? Yes, husband. I made my promise to be as devoted to him as you both were to each other, and it was one of the hardest, yet one of the easiest things I've ever done in my life. And I've kept every promise I made to him on that day. I hope you can see that. And I hope you're happy, because it's all Blaine deserves to be, and all I try to let him be.

"And I try so hard. Sometimes I feel like I can't do it anymore, like I can't cope, but I'm here. I'm still here and Blaine's still here and we're getting through this together, okay? Together, by ourselves. We don't need anyone else. It's just me and Blaine. And we're okay. So I hope you know that. That we're fine. That somewhere, Blaine still loves you and misses you. And that he hopes you're happy. Just as he hopes you'll see him happy."

A cloud passes over the sun, and Kurt shivers at the sudden cold. He stops, takes a breath, then realises he has nothing left to say.

He turns to leave.

* * *

><p>When Kurt thinks about it, he was glad to have gotten away, had a break from constant caring.<p>

But he's even happier to be going back home.

* * *

><p><strong>Finn<br>**_Will be back late. Just set out. Maybe not until 11 or midnight or even later. Go to sleep. Don't stay up. I'll see you tomorrow._


	13. Chapter 12: Part II

_Dear Finn,_

_Thank you for offering to do this. It means a lot to me._

_Everything you should need to know will be detailed below, though, if you needed anything else, feel free to phone me, and I'll do my best to answer._

_First of all, don't panic. Whatever happens, I'll be back in a few days. _

_This is going to be strange for Blaine – something new, and I don't know how well he'll react. If he ever becomes tense, or angry, or panicked for whatever reason, take him to the music room, get him started on playing something. If it becomes urgent, start singing right then and there, and make it an old song, something he'll know. If in doubt, resort to One Hand, One Heart. That should help him to relax._

_The music is also good for Blaine generally. So get him to play during the day, whenever. _

_Second, Clare (his doctor – you met her at the hospital) has said to get Blaine writing in his diary as much as possible, particularly over these few days. She's not due for a visit, but her number is right by the phone if you need it._

_Thirdly, I didn't know how you'd feel about sharing a bed with Blaine, but he needs to be kept close at night, in case he wakes up and wanders out. There's a chance of that happening, and if he gets out onto the road, it won't be good. Anyway, if you don't want to share the bed with him, if you're uncomfortable with that in any way, I've left a made-up mattress and some bedding in the spare room. Feel free to take that into our room and sleep on the floor. That should be okay, comfortable enough. As long as you're with Blaine. You don't need to stay with him for the whole twenty four hours – if he's sleeping during the day, you can leave him, but don't leave the house without him._

_Finally, _keep calm. _No matter what happens, don't fret, don't lose control, because otherwise that will affect Blaine too. _

_Here's a shorter version:_

_Music when he gets anxious  
><em>_Keep playing during the day  
><em>_KEEP CALM  
><em>_Keep diary  
><em>_Sleep in bed in room  
><em>_Clare's no. by phone_

_I know I'm asking a lot of you here, but you're the only person I trust to take care of him as well as he needs._

_I'll see you in a few days._

_All my love,  
><em>_Kurt_

* * *

><p>Finn waves goodbye to Kurt on the doorstep, while Blaine stands behind him, asking where Kurt is going.<p>

But then Kurt's out of sight, and Finn's turning back inside to make them both a drink, and the only sound is Blaine, asking where Kurt is now.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, once we've finished our drinks, do you want to write in your diary?"<p>

"What diary?"

"Kurt said you have a diary. That you write in."

"Where is Kurt?"

"He's gone away for a while."

"How do you know?"

"He told me."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Kurt's brother, Blaine. Finn."

"Where is Kurt?"

Finn sighs, and returns to sipping his coffee. Within a few moments, Blaine does too.

* * *

><p>Finn finds the diary on the desk in the bedroom, a pen tucked beside it, the pages covered in a sprawl of ink, a few words scattered between the scars.<p>

He offers the pen to Blaine, who settles.

"What should I write?"

"I don't know. What do you normally write?"

"I haven't written anything before."

"Just write something. The first thing in your head."

There's silence as the pen scratches a sloping cursive.

_Hurry here, sweetheart, faster than the speed of light._

* * *

><p>Finn's never played jazz before on the drums. He hasn't really sung jazz before either.<p>

Not until now.

They've dusted off the drum kit in the corner – the air still tastes of it a little – and now Blaine's at the piano, weaving a labyrinth through his own world of music; the straight lines of chords, the twists, corners, of a right-hand melody and the directions of the lyrics, while Finn adds in the harmonies, some obstacles with a slow drum beat.

It's old blues and rhythms and woven into the fabrics of their very selves, music which touches the unhealed nerve endings within the human soul, tied together with the light sparks of vibrancy and happiness and electricity.

They begin at 2.14 in the afternoon, with sunlight filtering in the dusty window, diffused around the room.

They don't stop until 5.47. Finn swears they've only been in there half an hour.

* * *

><p>The phone rings at 8.55 in the evening.<p>

Finn answers as fast as he can, careful not to wake Blaine upstairs.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is that Finn?"

"Yeah – wait, how do you know my name?"

"Kurt told me. I'm Clare, Finn. Blaine's doctor."

"Oh, hi there. Kurt mentioned you."

"Did he?"

"Yeah. Why are you phoning?"

"Is Blaine okay? – Yes, darling, I'm coming in a minute. I'm just checking on Blaine. Yes, I'm ready! – Sorry, my husband, we're going out tonight now I've finally got the chance in my work schedule. Anyway, how is he?"

"Fine. Sleeping. We played a lot of music today."

"That sounds nice. What else have you done. What did you do when you first got here?"

"We had a drink, some coffee. And we spoke a little. I never knew how hard talking to him would be. Well, I guess I did know, but since I haven't seen him for ages I sorta forgot. And I got him to write something, and we had lunch, then yeah, we did our music, had some more food and he went to bed."

"No trouble?"

"Not really."

"What did he write?"

"Something about Kurt, I think. He kept asking about Kurt. Something like _come here faster than the speed of light." _

"Sorry, I have to go now, but it was nice to talk to you. Speak to you soon, maybe? Phone me if you can now, bye Finn!"

She cuts the line in a hurry.

* * *

><p>That night, Finn moves the mattress into Kurt's bedroom, drags the duvet along the landing, positions himself by the door, checks Blaine once, and falls asleep quickly.<p>

* * *

><p>The next day is what Finn has been dreading.<p>

* * *

><p>Finn wonders, at one o'clock in the afternoon, why Blaine hasn't come down for breakfast, or lunch as it would be now.<p>

He's made two sandwiches, eaten one, left the other on the side for Blaine. And they've been there for at least an hour. He's already had to bat flies away from them, and closed the windows to make sure no more get inside, even if it's now too hot.

He goes upstairs to check.

* * *

><p><em>Oh shit what do I do?<em>

* * *

><p>Blaine's sat in the corner of the bedroom, and he's crying and crying and Finn's sure he has no idea what he's doing, and his knees are tucked to his chest and he's rocking back and forth, catatonic, and it's like every single element of the world he's ever known is falling down around him and all he can say is <em>I want Kurt I miss Kurt come back Kurt where are you Kurt Kurt Kurt.<em>

Finn tries to approach, to get him to look up, and all thought of singing to him flies from his mind when their eyes meet and Blaine's are threaded with red and shining with sadness, and then a smattering of tears blinds him again and he returns to rocking, banging his head against the wall in a beat like footsteps on deadwood. Finn tries to speak but everything just sounds hollow and empty and nothing's right and every sentence he forms breaks down in front o him like building blocks as Blaine knocks them over without awareness.

He tries to imagine what Kurt would do here. Fluttery, graceful, hummingbird Kurt, who'd know how to stop Blaine tearing himself apart – and how many times would he have had to stop Blaine tearing himself apart, Finn wonders in the cold mist of thoughts – who'd take Blaine in his arms and hold him until he stopped crying.

The first stretch of fingers is a little awkward, a little tentative, and the, "Blaine, hey, don't do that" is hesitant at best, and Blaine doesn't respond, just keeps crying shouting whispering for Kurt in a voice that scrapes like sandpaper.

_I can't be Kurt. But I can do my best to be like Kurt._

And Finn lifts Blaine's head up, cups it at the back where he can feel a blazing patch of heat where it's been knocked so many times, used as a weapon against his own thoughts, and tells him it's okay. It's okay and Kurt's coming back home soon and it's okay and you're okay and everything's going to be okay, okay?

All Blaine says is, "I want Kurt" before falling into Finn's arms, burying his face into the folds of Finn's shirt and Finn can feel the wet there, but he doesn't mind as he focuses solely on rocking Blaine gently in his arms, so tiny childlike and when there's no more noise no more tears, he lifts Blaine up and hides him under the covers of the bed once more, where he can seek solace in dreams.

* * *

><p>Blaine comes back downstairs at four, and asks where Kurt is, but there's no trace of sadness left in his tone.<p>

* * *

><p>Finn can't sleep that night.<p>

All he can hear is Blaine, Blaine pleading for Kurt as he drowns, one last wish before he descends back into the nothingness from which he came.

He supposes it's worth it, however, when Blaine stumbles out of bed at some time past one in the morning, and heads for the door.

"Woah, wait up there, Blaine. It's night. Go to sleep, okay?"

Blaine mumbles something unintelligible, slips beneath the covers once again.

* * *

><p>When he wakes up the next morning, Finn is relieved to notice Blaine asleep and peaceful, and even more relieved to note that today is the day when Kurt comes home.<p>

* * *

><p>Blaine's in a better headspace today. One not filled with wire and shrapnel or the litter of a No Man's Land.<p>

He asks about Kurt, but most of the time he keeps to himself. Quiet, a little more withdrawn, but content enough.

* * *

><p>They're in the music room later when Finn comes to a realisation.<p>

The music is spiky and staccato and upbeat, and they combine the cello with the drums just to see what happens, and even if Blaine doesn't know what he's truly doing, his eyes, his smile, his laugh, all bright and beaming and glowing in the light , they all remind Finn of the sixteen year old who performed at Sectionals, Regionals, whose orchestra concert he attended once at Kurt's command, who joined them at Nationals and who joined them in celebration.

And Finn sees that you can lose everything about yourself, but still be yourself.

Because Blaine is still Blaine. The Blaine that Kurt loves, who Kurt married, when Finn was one of the best men at the wedding, and whom Kurt has stayed by the side of through everything, unfailing, unfaltering.

* * *

><p><strong>From: Kurt<br>**_Will be back late. Just set out. Maybe not until 11 or midnight or even later. Go to sleep. Don't stay up. I'll see you tomorrow._

* * *

><p>And so Blaine goes to sleep, and Finn stays up a little later, watches TV for a bit, catches up on the news without really paying much attention – just wanting to hear the sports results.<p>

He goes upstairs at eleven, retrieves his pyjamas from the bedroom, takes a shower, changes, brushes his teeth.

And when he gets back to the bedroom

Blaine is gone.

* * *

><p>Finn searches the house.<p>

Blaine can't have gone far. No. He was away, what, half an hour in the bathroom?

And he would have heard, seen Blaine before, right?

But when he runs downstairs, breathing harsh, the clock reads near Midnight and the front door is open.

* * *

><p>There he is.<p>

There.

Finn can see him in the distance, beyond the gate.

"Blaine! Blaine! Come inside!"

It's near pitch-black, the streetlight flickering, and Blaine turns but doesn't move, isolated.

Finn slips on his shoes quickly, runs across the gravel, calling for Blaine who doesn't move, even when Finn reaches the roadside and a pair of headlights speeds towards them down the road –

* * *

><p><em>I'm very, very sorry about the lack of an update last Sunday! Mainly a combination of examsrevision and a lack of a computer. Mainly the latter, though. Please forgive me!_

_In the meantime, thank you once again so, so much for all the reviews, favourites, subscriptions and generally just for reading this. It makes me so, so happy, knowing that there are even one or two people out there reading my little words, and I really appreciate all of it._


	14. Chapter 13

- and it's coming and coming closer and Blaine's stranded in the spotlight _where he always felt at home _and there's nothing for it but to run run run and Blaine's in his arms and he's shaking and the car is coming but they're safe on the driveway, safe and sound and there's breathing and beating hearts and crying sobbing tremors and the car turns in.

Finn's grip around Blaine tightens.

_Kurt._

Blaine continues to cry.

* * *

><p>He only looks up when the car door slams.<p>

There's footsteps, quick, even on the gravel, and Blaine's scrambling out of Finn's arms and running into Kurts's and Kurt is taken aback by the sudden force, Blaine clinging to him like armour and whispering _I love you I love you I love you_ like a mantra, an enchantment to keep himself safe because Kurt's there, he's back in Kurt's arms and it's just like it always was, like he was the sunrise, and the sunset, and a miracle waiting to happen and the only point of return.

* * *

><p>They go inside not long after, Kurt helping Blaine to calm down, and Finn – Finn doesn't know what to do. He's just let Blaine escape. Let Blaine wander out into the road. Let Blaine nearly get fucking <em>killed.<em>

And now Kurt's going to hate him and never trust him again and he's failed. One job, to look after Blaine, and he can't even do that.

Finn sighs, finishes his coffee, and goes upstairs. Kurt is in the bathroom, and Blaine is in bed.

* * *

><p><em>Hurry here, sweetheart, faster than the speed of light.<em>

_Hurry here, sweetheart, faster than the speed of light._

_Hurry here, sweetheart, faster than the speed of light._

* * *

><p>Finn stares at the diary, open on the desk, and just the one phrase, over and over, solid as a legion, crossed and changed but still very much there.<p>

* * *

><p>He starts at the sound of the bathroom door opening from along the landing.<p>

"Kurt - "

"Come downstairs, Finn. I need a coffee."

They settle at the table, the kettle left boiling again.

"About tonight, Kurt, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to let him get out at all – I was just in the bathroom for a few minutes and when I got out he'd gone from the bed and that's where he was and I couldn't help it - I didn't mean to - Kurt, I'm so sorry."

He waits for the scathing, an acerbic comment, something biting that he only deserves right now.

What he's not expecting is an, "it's okay, Finn."

He's not expecting for Kurt to sit down, a mug in one hand, to reach over, link their fingers, smile up at him through the steam.

And he's certainly not expecting himself to break down into tears, as if there haven't been enough already in these past few days.

"Been a tough few days, right?" Kurt asks, not expecting an answer.

"I don't know how you do it, Kurt. Every day. The worrying. The watching. The hoping that everything will stay normal for a bit."

"You get used to it. When you love someone, you'll do that for them. You'll know that soon."

Finn doesn't know what to say. He turns round, grabs a tissue from the side, dabs at his eyes for a few moments.

"You must be tired, right? Go to bed. I'll finish my coffee, then come up."

* * *

><p>Blaine's fast asleep in the bedroom, curled beneath the covers like nothing ever happened.<p>

Finn kicks off his shoes, moves the mattress from the doorway, throws the duvet into the corner, and climbs into bed with him, his arm over Blaine's chest.

In the depths of sleep, Blaine smiles.

* * *

><p>Kurt presses the door open gently twenty minutes later. He surveys the floor – no sign of the bedding, and yes, it's in the corner, and where's Finn?<p>

It takes him a moment to realise there are two figures in the bed.

He pulls the mattress from the corner of the room, drags it to the foot of the bed, and settles down, not wanting to disturb the comforting peace.

* * *

><p>They all wake late the next morning – Finn first, then Blaine, and Finn notes that Blaine seems on edge all morning. Kurt takes a few more hours to sleep off the long journey, and by the time he comes downstairs, Blaine's fists are clenched so hard that he must be leaving alarming crescent marks in the palms of his hands, and his face seems oddly tight. Finn assures Kurt that there's been no tears yet, but that every time Finn tries to get him into the music room to calm down, he gets defensive.<p>

"You're not Kurt," Blaine tells him.

Kurt goes to find Blaine in the kitchen, wraps his arms around him, tells him that he's here now. That he's here and he's not going to go away again.

Blaine kisses him with a force to prove that statement true.

* * *

><p>There's a post-it note above the phone, a number scrawled across it. "Just in case," Kurt had told Finn.<p>

Curious, Blaine types the number into the keypad, looking up every few moments to refresh the numbers.

"Hello?"

"Hello there – who's that?"

"Blaine. Who are you?"

"Bla – Oh, Blaine! Why have you called?"

"I don't know who you are."

"My name's Clare, Blaine. I'm yo – I'm _a _doctor."

"You were going to say something else there."

"I'm a doctor, Blaine. That's all."

"Who are you?"

"Clare. Why have you phoned me, Blaine?"

"I don't know."

"Did Kurt ask you to?"

"No. I only just woke up. Where's Kurt?"

"Is he with you?"

"Not with me, no."

"Why don't you put the phone down and find him."

"I don't know where to look."

"Call for him."

"Who? Kurt?"

The kitchen door slams.

"Blaine, what are you – who are you talking to?"

"I don't know. Kurt!"

The phone falls to the floor as Blaine throws himself into Kurt's arms.

As soon as they break apart, Kurt picks it up to rectify any damage.

"Who is this?"

"It's Clare. Hello there, Kurt! How was your trip?"

"Not too bad. I can tell you more when we meet next time. Did Blaine phone you?"

"Yes, though I don't know - "

"Your number. I stuck it above the phone so that Finn could phone you if needed. He must have dialled it from that. I'm incredibly sorry. Did we disturb you?"

"Not at all. It's fine, Kurt, really, don't worry about it."

"Who are you talking to, Kurt?"

"I have to go now. My brother's still here. I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Kurt."

* * *

><p>Finn intends to set out mid-morning the next day. In the meantime, he sets about making good last night's mistakes. He irons shirts for Kurt, that no doubt will be ironed again anyway, he cooks, he does a few chores that he expects Kurt rarely has time to get done. Just the little things to build up until finally, finally, he feels he's earned his own, and Kurt's, forgiveness.<p>

* * *

><p>He's packed by bedtime, and moves back to the floor for the last night.<p>

In the end, Finn doesn't end up leaving until gone midday.

He doesn't sleep in, nor does he forget a collection of items.

Instead, he takes the time to say goodbye to Blaine in the music room with a few last jazz pieces, while Kurt watches from the doorway and smiles and dances.

* * *

><p>As Finn prepares to leave, Kurt hands him an envelope, tells him not to open it until he gets back home.<p>

He shakes hands with Blaine. "It was nice to meet you," to which Blaine looks confused, but smiles all the same.

His and Kurt's hug is tight and aching and longing and still an _I'm sorry I didn't mean to _hangs in the air, at least to Finn.

But then the car is pulling away for a ten-hour drive, and Kurt and Blaine are back to the ticking of reality.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Finn,<em>

_I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you did these past few days. _

_I saw you, the day before you left, everything you did. And I know why you did it. You felt so bad, so guilty, about the night before. _

_Finn, please, don't beat yourself up about it. It's okay. In fact, it's more than okay. You saved Blaine's life. And, despite everything that's been going on in my head recently, things you don't want to know, you've shown me just how much I appreciate having both you and Blaine in my life._

_I know now; it's when you're the most scared of losing something that you realise just how precious, how special, that one thing is. _

_You did all I could have hoped for, and so, so much more. I can only guess how hard it must have been at times for you, but the fact that I pulled up to the drive and that you and Blaine were both okay – that means more than anything to me, and I cannot thank you enough._

_It might not seem like it now, being stuck in Lima, at the garage, but I promise you that one day you will find someone, someone you love, who you can give the same amount of devotion and care to. And that person will make you so, so happy. I'll admit I wouldn't have thought that back in high school, but now, I'm sure it's true. After seeing you with Blaine, how patient you were, how gentle, it's bound to happen. Just wait for the right girl._

_Don't feel guilty, Finn. I'm so proud of you._

_Love_

_Kurt, your 'bro'_

_x_


	15. Interlude: a long stretch of present

I wake up each morning and wish for the unattainable tomorrow  
>Trapped in the twilight, in the half-dark<br>And the spring tide of resolute, gracing the shores of strength –  
>Sands of time slip between my toes<p>

I take a breath

_...inhale...exhale...  
><em>Take the time to steady, clench my fists, kiss away the tears  
>Hold still<p>

Sometimes there's something cold behind the smile  
>Icy resentment, a scattering from the Snow Queen<br>Think of it as a gift  
>The dissociation that thaws in spring<br>Melts in summer heat  
><em>ipse sub arboreis vitabam frondibus aestum -<br>__fronde sub arborea sed tamen aestus erat._

We'll stay in the garden, watch the seasons change together  
>Something beautiful, right?<p>

It's what we deserve  
>In the morning, the evening, the stagelight sunlight<br>Neither of us will ever be the rockstar, that celebrated victim of fame of our childhood dreams  
>But we'll be together<p>

The air runs in circles around us  
>You remain mine, despite lovely longing's strength<br>_I will keep you safe, and I will keep you close  
><em>_And the rain will make the flowers grow  
><em>Or something like that

We can stay like this forever  
>We're intertwined; your self, my self, inseparable<p>

Remember this:  
>The past is the present for as long as you carry it with you<p>

* * *

><p><em>Translation of the Latin:<em>  
><em>"I myself was avoiding the heat beneath the leaves of the trees - <em>  
><em>But, indeed, there was heat beneath the leave of the trees."<em>  
>Taken from Amores 3.5, Ovid<p> 


	16. Chapter 15

And with dreams, with the tick of the clock, with the grains of sand, in sleep and waking, in the rotation of the Earth on axis and three hundred and sixty five point two five days in a year; with snowmelt and phone calls and revivals and _this is the ten o'clock news _and words and lyrics and midnight and the watercolour sunset and the inhale exhale of each moment; with these, time passes.

* * *

><p>They wake up the same way they always do, held close, heartbeats closer, their hands almost touching.<p>

* * *

><p>Clare comes again, as she always does.<p>

But this time, it's not as always.

"Kurt, I had a phone call a few days ago. Do you remember when we went to that conference with Professor Buckham?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, one of the researchers there, Doctor Cuningham, she wrote a book based on her time in research, about the cases she came across. And Blaine was included, as you'd expect. And someone from the BBC – the TV company – phoned her. And she directed them to Professor Buckham, who in turn, directed them to me. They're interested in making a documentary. About Blaine, or David, as he's referred to in the book.

"It was the music that interested him the most. Blaine's retained ability. He wants to know how much Blaine can still remember, while following his day-to-day life as well. He mentioned that he had a few ideas about what he could do, but he wants to know if you'd consent to me giving him your details for him to consult further with us all. What do you think?"

"Do you have a copy of the book? I'd like to be able to read it, to know what they understand of Blaine before I can say yes, or no, for that matter. I don't want to do anything to distress him anymore, make him upset, especially when the last few months have been so good. Before then, before I read it, I can't say."

"I understand. Professor Buckham has a copy. I'll get her to send it your way."

* * *

><p>The package arrives three days later – <em>The Promise of Within: Notes from inside the brain, by B. Cuningham.<em>

The cover is oddly beautiful, a pastiche of letters, cream-creased paper, the ink an alarming blue, and the title in a clean serif font.

From the contents, Kurt can't work out which chapter is about Blaine.

Instead, he waits until Blaine goes to bed that evening, settles on the sofa with a glass of wine and begins to read instead.

* * *

><p>The book is prefaced with a quotation:<p>

_...When I awoke at Midnight, not knowing where I was, I could not be sure at first who I was; I had only the most rudimentary sense of existence, such as may lurk and flicker in the depths on an animal's consciousness; I was more destitute of human qualities than the cave-dweller; but then the memory not yet of the place in which I was, but of various other places where I had lived, and might now very possibly be, would come like a rope let down from heaven to draw me up out of the abyss of not-being, from which I could never have escaped by myself: in a flash I would traverse and surmount centuries of civilisation, and out of a half-visualised succession of oil-lamps, followed by shirts with turned-down collars, would put together by degrees the component parts of my ego._

The attribution is to Proust, _Swann's Way._

Kurt sighs, sinking further back into the cushion as he downs the rest of his glass.

* * *

><p>In the end, it isn't what he'd predicted at all. Instead, it's an incredibly interesting snapshot at the various facets of the human mind.<p>

The background is fascinating; the cases of Henry Molaison, Chris Sizemore, Scott Bolzan, Herbert Graf, every fact and detail she learnt on her original course that drew her into the field, helped her find her speciality. And then comes the new things, the new people who help her to slowly part the folds of tissue and gain a small glimpse of what's underneath.

There's the twisted, the shattered, the expanded, the split -

There's the woman who _"spoke in jigsaw pieces that only her mind could solve."_

And there's the man for whom "_new memories melted like snow alighting on warm ground, leaving not a trace of meaning behind."_

The human brain, stretched to the very limits of its existence.

* * *

><p>Kurt's not sure whether to ask Blaine or not.<p>

Blaine, as he knew Blaine, would be happier than anything to take part.

But new Blaine - as Kurt still thinks of him after these years – is unpredictable. Changeable. One day, he'd say yes before his heart could beat, and on another, he would break down, and on yet another, might have even caused physical injury. He thinks back to Clare asking about the conference, and this would be different. This is on a much bigger scale.

* * *

><p>"This producer – would he be able to speak with me?"<p>

Later that day, Clare has them in touch.

* * *

><p>"We have some ideas. But it was the love of music that intrigued me the most. The fact that he can still do that – it's amazing."<p>

"What kind of ideas?"

"I think the one we would like to go with, if we can sort it out, and if you'll agree to it, is to have Blaine – Ms Buckham noted he used to conduct the school choir? Well, we'd like to see if he can still do that. He's not conducted since his illness, right?"

"No, no, he hasn't."

"Are you okay, Mr Hummel? You sound a little shocked."

"Yes, sorry. Just not what I'd expected."

"Would that be okay?"

"I would think so. I don't know if we can consent just yet. I don't know if you know what Blaine's temperament is like. It changes. A lot. One day he'll be fine with it, and the next day, he won't want anything to do with it."

"I knew that was a risk with the idea. But it's whether you think the two of you can do it."

"I think – I think we could."

* * *

><p>It takes the time to organise everything. Even with the school more than happy to hear their Mr Anderson will be coming back in some capacity, they have to arrange a time and a time-scale, accommodation for the film maker and the cameraman so as not to disrupt Blaine too badly, and in the end Kurt manages to acquire two new house-guests for two months.<p>

"We'll be able to observe Blaine at home as well as within the school," they'd said.

* * *

><p>They arrive in September, weighed down with equipment and whatever else it is that they need.<p>

"Who are you?" Blaine asks, with that same, bright, childish curiosity.

"You must be Blaine. My name's James, and this is Matt." Matt waves from beside him. "We're here to do some filming."

"Of Kurt? Kurt likes performing. He's amazing."

"No. Actually, we wanted to film you, Blaine?"

"Why? I've been ill. I've only just woken up. Is it because I was ill?"

"Yes. But Kurt tells me that you're also a very talented musician. Could we hear you play?"

"I've been ill. I've never played a note in my life." Kurt notes the shadow that passes through James' eyes.

"Can you have a go for us anyway, Blaine? It would be nice to show our guests if you could try."

* * *

><p>There's not enough chairs in the music room, and Kurt ends up perched on Finn's old drum stool as Blaine settles at the piano.<p>

Despite Blaine's protestations, he plays for them, as he always does, slips away into isolation.

The applause as he finishes his piece startles him.

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

* * *

><p>It takes them a week just to get settled, before they start to even consider Blaine returning to school.<p>

It's a week full of _can we just get a quick shot of the two of you walking together?_ Or _would it be okay to film Blaine playing? _And _could the two of you just lie down together outside for a few moments? We won't be long, doesn't matter that it's cold, just make it sweet and romantic for us._

* * *

><p>Over the week, they receive a number of voicemails from old colleagues, those who've stayed long enough to remember the old Blaine, who miss the old Blaine, who somehow still think that it's the old Blaine coming back.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Finally decided to stop that doctors and nurses game after all these years and hand Blaine back to us? Thank you, Kurt! We can't wait to see you guys again.<em>

_It'll be lovely to see you both again. Even if you're not properly teaching any more, it will just be nice for you to be back. I'm just glad you're finally feeling a little better. See you soon!_

_Ahh, the beloved Mr Anderson is coming back to show himself to a whole new bunch of students – no, not show yourself in that way. Kurt won't be too pleased at that. Let them all have their hopeless, adorable little crushes on you. Who knows, maybe that old good-lookin' charm has worn off since we last saw you? We'll just have to wait and see!_

* * *

><p>Blaine's getting restless. Anxious.<p>

The piano needs retuning and the cello strings are worn and the drum kit remains untouched; the only real music left to them is singing.

It's even harder now that, for some reason, they're needing to use the room more often.

They've chosen a few pieces for Blaine to work on with the choir; My True Love Hath My Heart, Catch a Falling Star, and, at Kurt's request, Candles. Each one tainted with their own beauty, a chimerical magic to their melodies.

* * *

><p><em>and someday you will get back<br>__everything you gave me_

_teach me to hear mermaids singing  
><em>_and find what wind serves to advance an honest mind_

_my heart was wounded with his wounded heart  
><em>_for as from me on him his hurt did light_

* * *

><p>They sing through each daily, together, going through the harmonies, careful not to fall prey to the demand characteristics of the camera watching them, catching each thing they miss.<p>

* * *

><p>Kurt wakes up to Blaine jumping on the bed.<p>

"Hey, Kurt, Kurt, it's snowing, look, Kurt!"

He shifts up slowly, rubs the last remains of sleep from his eyes, leaves the safety of the covers.

Sure enough, looking outside, the ground is soft and untouched and fairytale-white.

"Blaine, come and look over here," he calls, getting him down from the bed.

"It's so pretty, the snow," Blaine whispers, reaching his arms around Kurt's neck and leaning against his shoulder. Kurt smiles.

* * *

><p><em>...Can the two of you just walk together? Hold hands, yes, that's right. Turn around, look at each other, kiss – yes, oh, that's beautiful. Now, when you're ready, pull away. Blaine, put your arms around Kurt's neck and just smile...<em>

"Why?"

* * *

><p>When Kurt wakes, the other side of the bed is cold.<p>

It takes him a moment to realise exactly what it means.

_Blaine._

It's 04.26, and Blaine's not in the bedroom. Not in the bathroom. Nor on the landing, in the kitchen, the living room, the music room – nowhere.

"James, Matt, I'm so sorry to have to wake you, but Blaine's gone missing. I need your help to search for him. He's not in the house, probably outside, and in this snow, I don't know where he might be. Please, help me."

* * *

><p>In the end, they're all in coats, pyjama pants and slippers as they leave through the front door, their footsteps from earlier glaring just as brightly as a set Kurt's sure must be Blaine's, but they don't know which is which so they can't say where Blaine's gone and the creeping creeping skickness and terror is slowly twisting in his stomach like poison ivy because where is he <em>Blaine Blaine oh God please Blaine<em>

And he's not in the garden and he's not on the driveway and so he must be by the road _oh fuck _and with the torchlight he can see a shape but it's over the other side and he's calling _Blaine Blaine _and the silhouette looks up and yes it's Blaine curled up against the bark of a tree by the hedgerow across the road and he's in his underwear and shivering and crying and terrified and Kurt doesn't even look before crossing just runs and takes Blaine in his arms and he's freezing and fragile but he's safe now.

"I just woke up, Kurt. Where am I? Everything hurts."

* * *

><p>All three of them help to get Blaine inside, Kurt lifting him in his arms. Blaine clings to Kurt's jacket, his face buried into the folds of material while his husband whispers soft nothings to him in an attempt to soothe him.<p>

Once inside, they work quickly to cover Blaine with blankets, duvets, coats, as many layers as they can find, and James brings them all coffees in an attempt to get them all warmed up again. Blaine's shivering slowly subsides, but he curls inwards, each little vertebrae raised, completely lost.

"Please, please, it hurts."

Kurt, James and Matt exchange looks.

"Hurting's a good sign though, right? It means there's no frostbite or anything, I think."

"We should get him to hospital, though. Shall I ring nine-one-one for you, Kurt?"

"Please," Kurt whispers breathlessly. "I can't leave him right now."

As if to affirm, Blaine seizes Kurt's shirt, pulls him closer, looking so panicked and helpless and wrecked that Kurt just wants to cry.

"I'm not leaving you, Blaine. It's okay. I'm here, sweetheart."

James goes to the phone, and when he returns, Kurt is beneath the covers with Blaine, his arms around him and humming softly into his hair while Blaine continues to shake.

* * *

><p>They're in the ER an hour later, Blaine hooked to a saline drip and, his eyes closed, treading the edge of sleep. Kurt's next to him, another coffee in his hands; it's just gone six a.m. and he can't sleep, not after what's happened, so he might as well try and stay awake.<p>

* * *

><p>Later that day, they test Blaine's hands and feet for frostbite; none found.<p>

But the scream he makes when they're placed in lazy-steaming water and the way the skin burns vermillion will haunt Kurt for the rest of his life, something not even a "shh, Blaine, it's okay," or a soothing hand on a back or kiss on a neck or an "it's almost over, sweetheart, you've been so brave," will assuage.

And that's not even the worst.

The worst is when your husband turns to you and asks "why does it hurt so much?" because he doesn't even know why this pain is being thrown on him.


	17. Chapter 16

Blaine is discharged the following day, and the pair of them are only too happy to be going home.

Now there's only one more thing left to do before everything is back to normal again.

* * *

><p>"I'm so, so sorry. I really hoped this would be okay, but I think you saw the other night that it's not doing him any good. I don't think we're going to be able to continue working on this."<p>

"Don't be worried, Kurt. Of course we're disappointed, but Blaine's wellbeing comes first. And yours too. It's not a problem. We'll sort everything out – phone the school and everything. Can we just ask one thing?"

"Yes?"

"If the opportunity arises, we'd like to be able to use some of this footage somehow. There's some really amazing stuff we've got, and, with your permission, even if it just forms a part of a larger documentary - "

"Of course. Yes, you may. But we don't want to have any further interest in any kind of filming like this. You can stay here for as long as you need before you can get flights back to England, but no more cameras. I'm sorry."

"No problem, Kurt. Thank you for letting us into your lives these past few weeks. The experience has been incredible. Blaine's truly lucky to have someone like you."

* * *

><p>Blaine's spent much of the day asleep, trying to drain the stress of the past couple of days. He has three pairs of socks on, two sweatshirts and another three layers of blankets on top of him in an extra effort by Kurt who's still astutely aware of the need to keep Blaine warm. Maybe even too warm. But it's better to be too warm than too cold in a situation like this, right?<p>

The memory of Blaine shivering, so fragile, almost child-like in his arms still haunts him. Sometimes, when Kurt thinks of it, he can even feel Blaine's frozen hand catch at his throat at his shirt –

* * *

><p>Matt is heading downstairs from the bathroom when he hears a shuffling coming from inside the main bedroom.<p>

He stops for a moment, waits, and still someone's moving in there, footsteps erratic like a heartbeat.

And as he pushes the door open, the rhythm falters.

* * *

><p>Blaine's staring back at him, flushed deep, the poppies of heat blooming on his cheeks pricked with the tears or sweat or both of rain and his hands are shaking and he just looks so <em>lost. <em>His eyes are like the entrance to a haunted house, and the ghosts within his mind flicker like candle flames through the faded windows. The dust has long since settled, if still stirred now and again, and the cobwebs and cracks and crevasses that grow a little more each day, exposing a little more of the nothing inside -

It's breathtakingly terrifying.

* * *

><p>"Kurt, Kurt, you might want to come up here."<p>

Matt's voice is harsh against his throat, almost a whisper, nothing that Kurt will hear.

"Where's Kurt? You're not Kurt. Where is he? Kurt, Kurt, where are you?"

Blaine's voice builds and he starts pacing again, his arms wrapped around himself, and there's a shake in each step.

"Blaine, Blaine, are you upstairs?"

"He's in the bedroom. Come up here, Kurt, please. I don't know what to do – shh, Blaine, Kurt's coming, okay?"

Sure enough, Kurt's in the doorway as fast as he can get there, pushing Matt out of the way and running over to Blaine who's pacing again before clinging to Kurt like he's the only way to stop himself from falling. And, to be truthful, Matt thinks, he probably is.

"He's burning up, Matt. He's too hot. He's confused. Can you go get a glass of cold water? Check the freezer for some ice to put into it too. And run a washcloth under some cold water too. Please – quickly."

Matt stares for a few seconds before Kurt encourages him away.

Blaine looks into Kurt's eyes, seeing the red of panic.

"Kurt, Kurt, I just woke up and I don't know what's going on and I feel hot and I don't know where this is please Kurt please I don't know I want to know why does it feel so funny I don't like it Kurt please please - "

Some gentle pulling helps Kurt to take Blaine back over to the bed, to perch on the edge of it together. He undoes the top button of Blaine's shirt, strips two of the three covers off the bed, waits for Matt to come back with everything he needs, but it's hard not to try and do more when all Blaine can whisper is helplessness, reaching for Kurt but failing, wracked a little, shaking.

Matt brings up everything they need, James following behind with an "I thought you could use some help."

Kurt tilts Blaine's head back, encourages his mouth open, raises the glass to his lips.

"Please, Blaine, try and drink a little of this. It might help you feel better, help you to cool down."

"Why?"

"Because you're too hot. It might help you cool down."

"Kurt - "

"Blaine, please, just drink a little."

Blaine's eyes flutter shut as Kurt tilts the glass to his mouth, lets the water slip between his lips, and Kurt smiles when a little shiver passes through him as he takes the glass away. He takes the washcloth from Matt's hands, gently presses at Blaine's forehead and chest before slowly helping him to lie back down, tucking him back beneath the one remaining cover.

"He needs to sleep. Let him sleep. That's always the best thing for him. There's no fever; he just feels confused, and maybe the thought of the cold is still somewhere there. I don't know, honestly. Let's go downstairs. You get some sleep, Blaine."

And with a kiss to his cheek, another to his pulse, Kurt leaves Blaine to wear away the last of the pain.

* * *

><p>Back in the kitchen, Kurt busies himself with the kettle, two coffees and one tea.<p>

"Kurt, I'm very sorry if I sound completely ignorant asking this, but is there ever any chance of Blaine getting better? His memory – I mean. Of course, Dr Cuningham explained it in her book, but I still don't know much about the condition. Watching Blaine, watching you with him these past few weeks, it's been eye-opening, but I want to understand a bit more."

Kurt takes a few moments to answer, throwing the teaspoons into the sink, setting the mugs down on the table, taking a breath.

"In short, no. It's hard to explain – I can't say I understand a lot of the theory of it myself. But from the experiences over these years, this is about as best I can do. Essentially, the parts of his brain the virus attacked, the temporal lobe and some of the frontal lobe, are dead. They're still there, but they don't work, and they never will. They just exist, completely devoid of any purpose or function. So the memory damage, and the personality damage, it's permanent, irreversible."

"Personality damage?"

"You think this is what he was like before? That the rage, the fear, that that was the man I married? No, it wasn't. It's not always that bad, as you can tell, but sometimes it still scares me."

"What was he like before?"

"He was – okay, you remember that morning it first snowed? When we were walking outside and kissing? That was Blaine before. Not always happy, but he'd never let that get the better of him, if that makes sense? He wasn't perfect, but despite his flaws, he was perfect to me. And I loved him. I still do. It's just not the same, I guess."

* * *

><p>The next day, James tells Kurt they've managed to get a flight for the morning after.<p>

"You don't need us to stay, help look after Blaine?"

"I've been going for eight years. I'm sure I can manage a few more. But thank you."

* * *

><p>And luckily, Kurt doesn't think he'll need it, with Blaine seemingly back to his old self. Or his old self since the illness, as Kurt still refers to it.<p>

He's a little slow, a little more reserved in his actions, but he's up and talking to them and playing music again and yeah, he's going to be fine. No lasting damage for as long as anything can last.

* * *

><p><em>The update is coming a little earlier today as I'm finally getting to go and see The Hunger Games this evening! So here we go - I hope you enjoy!<em>

_**Warning: **The next chapter of this will contain character death. I say no more for now, but for those of you who don't enjoy reading things like that, I will warn you now that you may want to skip the next chapter; eighteen will focus on the aftermath. I'm sorry!_


	18. Chapter 17

And it's just them again.

Kurt and Blaine and Blaine and Kurt.

Just as it always has been.

Just as it always should be.

* * *

><p>Winter turns to spring and spring turns to summer and they're okay. Not happy, but okay.<p>

* * *

><p>They lie beneath the summer heat, shaded by the tree in their garden, and sing to each other. The petals in the tree rise and burst and fall onto them. Just as the birds greet each day with an aubade, so their voices close the sunset in the same way. But if they sit still enough, quiet enough, keep their heartbeat low – they can almost hear the sun move.<p>

And sometimes, just as the first stars start to blink, they'll kiss together beneath the lamp-lit moon, and it feels like home to both of them.

* * *

><p>There are the afternoons which stretch long and lazy into each other, where there's music and dancing and watching the rain and it's like a little piece of eternity dropped into their hands that no one knows what to do with; minutes, hours, morning and evening. It's all the same.<p>

* * *

><p>Blaine's diary is on the desk as always, and Kurt sits up there one evening while Blaine sleeps again, just flicking through the pages of the past years, the words and lines and lives unfinished, the shards of Blaine's mind embedded in the pages.<p>

However, as Kurt flicks forward, he doesn't recognise the words – or, at least, can't remember Blaine writing them. But Blaine has to have written them; it's his handwriting, his phrasing, the same words over and over again –

_I am well and truly alive_

_I am wholly and undoubtedly alive_

_I am most completely and definitely alive_

* * *

><p>He shows this to Clare the next time she visits.<p>

"That's – Kurt, are you sure you don't remember Blaine writing this?"

"Sure."

"That's amazing. What I could guess has happened is - you know I told you that his procedural memory was still there? It's how he can still play all his music and do normal things most of the time. And it could be, possibly, that the very act of writing in a diary, kept in the same place, has become embedded there too; we have these things called schemas, things which are basically the procedures we go through day-to-day, like a morning routine or what you do at a restaurant, for example. And it could be that the repetition of the act of writing in his diary has meant that Blaine can now do it independently without being prompted because somewhere, he knows that he has to. It's clever.

If there's one thing I've learnt through these years with both of you, it's how amazing we, as humans are. You and Blaine, you've shown me just what we're capable of, how strong we can be, how our bodies can bear the weight of everything and instead of getting weaker, we just fight it more. Your strength, Kurt – it's inspiring and incredible and I -," her grip tightens in the diary, her eyes flickering away, not making contact, "– I don't know, Kurt. This whole thing. Eight years. So much has changed but there's you and Blaine and I've seen you and how you're always so constant and steadfast and just _there _and - "

She falters as Kurt slips the diary from her grasp and locks her fingers with his own. Both of them smile through their own tears.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Kurt,<em>

_I'm sorry I haven't spoken to you in a while! Broadway does take it out of you a lot. _

_I wish you could be here with me. Remember our dreams back at McKinley? The two of us, taking Broadway together. You could have made it, Kurt. If you hadn't moved into writing like you did, if you auditioned more, you would have been incredible. Us, together._

_I've just finished my run in _Second Chances_, and am about to start rehearsals for another new show, _House. _There's a role in it that I can just see you playing as well. If only you could. But I understand. You have Blaine. _

_Anyway, I don't want to keep going on in that line. I wanted to make sure you're okay. Both of you. I miss you so, so much, being able to see you, meet up for coffee all the time. I understand, of course. I know you can't, what with having to care for Blaine and everything, and after last time, I don't want to have to cause him any more trouble. It's not fair on either of you._

_Write back to me, anyway. I don't want to fall out of touch again._

_All my love to you and Blaine,  
><em>_Rachel  
><em>_xxxx_

* * *

><p><em>Dear Rach,<em>

_I'm happy to hear from you again. It's been a while, right? _

_We're fine. It's never going to be the way it used to be, but we're fine. And that's all Blaine and I need right now. _

_I think about you all the time. Where you are now. Every time I see your name in an article, on a billboard in the city, all I can think of is you going from strength to strength. I'm so proud of you. I knew you would._

_How's the dating life going? How's everything with you?_

_Sorry for such a short reply, but Blaine's asking to go outside and I'm going to join him. Write back soon, though!_

_Love,  
><em>_Kurt  
><em>_X_

* * *

><p>With the post, Kurt expects Rachel's reply, but instead finds a small package, carefully wrapped and stamped from London, England.<p>

He opens it to find a DVD, blank-covered except for a few words in black marker pen.

_IMAGINE: MEMORY  
>BBC<br>__James Carter/Matt Williams_

_Thank you!_

* * *

><p>They sit together that afternoon and watch the documentary; it focuses half on Blaine and Kurt, and the other half on a female savant with highly detailed recall, contrasting the two cases.<p>

Blaine points to Kurt through it, smiling, not knowing what's going on except for the fact that his husband, the man he loves, is both with him and on the TV doing the performing he loves to do.

* * *

><p>Rachel's reply arrives the next morning.<p>

Neither of them gets to read it.

* * *

><p>The night is clear and the stars are scattered across the sky, haphazard.<p>

Kurt takes one look out of the window, breathes lassitude against the glass, closes the curtains on an inhale before sliding into bed with Blaine.

He kisses the back of his neck, links their fingers.

* * *

><p>And when Kurt wakes up, either sleep or Blaine has unlocked them.<p>

Realisation hits him like a whip.

* * *

><p>First call – Blaine's favourite wandering places. The music room. The bathroom. The kitchen. The chairs in the living room. And all are empty, silent.<p>

The fact that Blaine's done this before doesn't make it any less terrifying.

And when he notices the front door open, he doesn't think twice before pulling on a coat, a pair of shoes and running out into the darkness.

* * *

><p>Everything is trembling.<p>

The ground shakes under his foot.

The trees in the garden, their slowly-retreating home, the familiar lines refracting.

Kurt's shouts hang heavy and empty in the air and he runs.

* * *

><p>He leans over the edge of the road, checks right, left, his heart a trapped bird beating frantically to escape.<p>

"Blaine! Blaine!"

His voice is slowly draining, his breathing dry and harsh like a desert, but he keeps running along the path to where he can see a silhouette just outside the glow of the streetlight.

...that won't move when called.

Kurt runs further through the grass lining the roadside to where the figure is, and the closer he gets, the more he can pick out Blaine's features, his arms, legs, the way his back leans with each drop of each vertebra, and that he can't move for crying.

Crying.

Blaine's crying, but that means he's not hurt, right?

Scared, confused, but safe.

* * *

><p>Kurt takes Blaine's face in his hands, strokes his hair, holds him, kisses him like he first did when they were seventeen.<p>

So much has changed since then; Blaine's hair is flecked with grey, the shadows a little deeper under his eyes, which, yet, have retained the same sweet glow.

_It's okay now, Blaine, you're safe, please, come inside with me, get some sleep, you need to get some sleep Blaine, here, it's okay_

And Blaine adds a counterpart, humming over his shoulder, a gentle monotone of _Kurt Kurt Kurt Kurt Kurt Kurt KURT!_

"Blaine, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

But Blaine's staring into the distance, to something far away, eyes swinging from right to left right left right left –

Headlights.

Speeding.

Swerving across the road, unsteady, like the injured gymnast on the beam.

The tyres howl like dogs and Kurt's pulling Blaine to his feet and urging him to run because maybe he can get the car to stop because it's not safe and he could kill someone if he keeps going and Blaine Blaine you need to run just get out of the way please Blaine _run you can't stay here -_

_Blaine - _

_Run -_

* * *

><p>Of course it doesn't work.<p>

* * *

><p>A body contorts through the air, twisting like ribbon or poison ivy. It's poetic and lyrical and morbid and hypnotic and for a moment it might be okay – he'll land on his feet and take a bow and accept the flowers thrown to his feet with a flourish.<p>

But when it hits the ground, when blood seeps across the asphalt, when the limbs look contorted like a child's discarded toy, it's not going to be a triumphant end. It was never going to be.

* * *

><p>The car slows for a moment, to the verge of a halt, then swerves away again.<p>

And Blaine Anderson, a startled deer, treads silently to the other side of the road, touches his husband's arm, his face, his back, gathers traces of blood on his fingers, whispers, "Kurt, Kurt, wake up. I'm alive, Kurt."

* * *

><p>The sun rises to a tear-stained backdrop.<p>

It casts light over the trees that line each side of the road in legions, shielding Blaine, the lone soldier, leaning over the body of his wounded comrade.

He's not stopped talking to Kurt, still waiting for a response. But no matter how many times he's expressed his joy at being alive, or how many times he's asked Kurt if he's okay or told Kurt that he loves him, he's simply left to wait for an answer that will never come.

And neither the skin turning cold like a tide, nor the blood of this war of living, nor the heartbeat frozen in time will help him understand otherwise.

* * *

><p>In the early morning, a car pulls over to the side of the road.<p>

"Sorry, we were wondering if anything was wrong and - "

"Who are you?" Blaine blurts out, suddenly scared.

The couple in the car exchange a look, notice Kurt.

"I think we'd better call an ambulance."


	19. Chapter 18

By the time the paramedics have arrived, Blaine is a mess.

No matter how hard they try, they can't prize him from Kurt, his fingernails leaving their bites in his skin, and they end up having to give him twenty milligrams of Haloperidol to calm him down.

Only then do they check Kurt over, note a loss of breath, a stopped heartbeat and pronounce that he was dead on arrival at the scene, that there was nothing they could do, that CPR would have been of no use. It's all horribly clinical and standardised. There's no feeling behind it.

They place Kurt in the ambulance first, Blaine second.

* * *

><p>When Blaine comes round, everything is too loud. The machines, the buzz from outside the room, even just the harsh glowing of the walls under the lights and the lights themselves.<p>

_He's awake._

_It says in his notes he's with Dr Smith. Can you get her down here?_

_Oh, so this is _her_ Blaine? Does that mean the other man who came in with him – that was his husband? What's his name? Anyway, she won't know. She's on shift._

_Call her. We'll tell her._

"Tell who what? Where am I? I don't like it. I want Kurt. Where's Kurt?"

The two nurses exchange glances. Both make to leave the room, not wanting to be left alone with him, but only one manages to leave.

* * *

><p>Clare is in her office when there's a knock at the door.<p>

"Come in – oh, hello Lauren. I thought you were on shift now."

"Something's happened. It's Blaine."

"Where is he? Is Kurt with him?"

"He's in the emergency room. Come down, please."

* * *

><p>They stop just outside Blaine's isolation.<p>

"Clare, there's something I need to tell you. It's about Kurt. There's been an - accident. They think it was a car. He was long-dead before they got there, hours, they think. Blaine was a mess. I don't think he understands - "

Dr Smith's gaze is translucent. She takes a breath.

All she can say is, "let me see him."

* * *

><p>But it's useless.<p>

By the time she can go in, Blaine's asleep again.

"I'm sorry. I had to sedate him again. He was upset – I couldn't - "

Clare notices Molly's nursing a large cut across her forearm, holding gauze over it to stem the bleeding.

"Did he - ?" she asks, gesturing towards it.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, I just had to, Dr Smith. I didn't give him a large dose – just enough to calm him. He should be awake soon. You can stay here if you want."

"I will. But let me see to your arm first." Something clinical. Something basic. Something to distract her. Something to take away the pain for a few minutes.

* * *

><p>Lauren takes the responsibility of phoning Mr Smith, to get him to the hospital, sensing Dr Smith's safety net slowly coming away from beneath the fine line of calm she's treading on.<p>

"Hello? Is that Mr Smith?"

"Yes, yes it is. Who's speaking?"

"Lauren – Lauren from the hospital?"

"Yes, oh yes! Hello Lauren, why are you calling?"

"It's about Dr Smith – Clare. She's had some bad news and she's taking it as well as she can, but I don't think it's quite hit her yet, and having you there – it might help her."

"Okay. I'll come down there."

"She's in the emergency room. I'll meet you when you get down here."

* * *

><p>Alistair Smith won't admit it to himself, but he's scared.<p>

There's a tension in him tightening like a climber's knot as he walks the twenty minutes from their apartment to the hospital.

The thought of his wife peering over that edge of – he doesn't know what – fear? Despair? Grief? It makes him more worried than he'll ever tell himself he is.

* * *

><p>Lauren meets him in reception, takes him through to a private room.<p>

"You know Clare's friends? Kurt and Blaine?"

"Blaine as in the one she wrote the paper on? The one with the memory thing?"

"Yes, that Blaine, and his husband, Kurt. They were in an accident. Blaine's okay – she's with him now. But Kurt's not."

"Did he die?" The question is harsh and jarring, asked without thinking in a flash of curious concern.

"Yes. At the scene. They don't quite know what yet, but it was a car. Some bleeding. Massive internal injuries. Maybe brain damage. But the end result was the same."

"Now what?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask her."

* * *

><p>In half an hour, Alistair goes and gets two paper cups of tea from the machine located for visitors in the reception, and sits sipping it in the waiting room until it becomes tepid and he pours the remaining quarter in the bin, leaving the full one for his wife on the table for when she comes in.<p>

"Hey," he whispers, his voice oddly quiet. She answers with a weak smile which doesn't reach her eyes. "I got you a tea. Thought you could use it."

"Thanks." She takes a seat next to him, takes a sip of the drink, then pushes it away again.

"How's Blaine?"

"He's okay. Calmer. But I don't know what he's going to do now." He reaches over, takes her hand, and she starts to cry. "He-he just looks so lost in there, without K-K-Kurt, and he's got no one left and there's no one to look after him now and I don't know what to do because Kurt said not to put him in one of those homes please we can't let that happen - " A sudden wild glint flashes in her eyes, a sign of madness that makes complete sense to her, and she takes a phantom breath before bursting back into a stream of thought, " – we could look after him couldn't we we could move to his house or he could move to ours and we can care for him can't we I could even quit work anything please we can't leave him alone please _please - _"

Her voice is like gunfire and she claws at his shirt like an animal begging for rescue, for its wounds to be healed and cared for before being released back into the wild; the alternative is leaving it there to die. Her strength drains fast however, and eventually she's just left in the cold, draining sunlight filtering through the dirty window somewhat shredded.

* * *

><p>Later, when she's had a little sleep, he'll tell her no, that she's being silly. That they can't look after Blaine and that she'll need to find another solution.<p>

He'll stroke her hair as she cries silently, hold her as night spreads like a drop of spilled ink, but tell her it's no good.

She can't do anything now.

* * *

><p><em>The thing about humans is that we have all these feelings.<em>

_Ekman picked out six basic emotions: anger, disgust, fear, joy, sadness and surprised._

_But we're so much more than that._

_We've got these incredible ideas of pleasure and comfort and closeness and contentment. Of intimacy and warmth and safety and solace and peace and hope._

_But then we have these other things; bitterness and jealously and hate and grief and fear and the burning fires of war inside us._

_However there's one feeling we, so human, fear above all. Powerlessness. The desire for control, for order, for safety is so great that when all of that is taken away from us, we feel completely empty. We need a goal, a purpose to be here and when we can't fulfil what calls us, we feel useless. And when we're trapped, blocked by things we can't control, by the overwhelming power of nature, we feel helpless._

* * *

><p><em>And then there's Blaine, lost, lonely as the sea.<em>

And Clare Smith thinks to herself_ if I can't help him, if I'm powerless, then I have failed as a doctor. Blaine, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry that I cannot help you. You don't deserve this._

* * *

><p>The next morning, she doesn't go to see Blaine.<p>

She heads back upstairs, splashes her face with cold water and makes for her office.

Her fingers shake as she dials the number.

"Hello?"

"Hey – who is this?"

"My name's Clare Smith – Blaine's - "

"Blaine's doctor? Oh, I remember you!"

"May I ask who's speaking?"

"Finn. Kurt's brother. Is everything okay? You sound kinda quiet."

"No,no. Finn, can you sit down somewhere?"

"Uh – sure. What's going on?"

"There's been an accident. Blaine's – Blaine's in hospital."

"What about Kurt?"

"Finn, Kurt – Kurt didn't survive."

Silence.

"What happened?"

"We don't know, exactly. A car accident. Obviously Blaine can't tell us anything but they were found at the roadside just by their house, so we can only assume - "

"When did this happen?"

"Yesterday. In the early hours of the morning."

A loud thud.

"Finn, Finn, are you okay?"

"Goddamn it, no! My brother's dead and I didn't know! How do you expect me to be okay?"

Anger turns to grief. Neither of them knows what to say.

They sit for a moment, Finn shaking down the phone.

All Clare wants to do is take his hand, to comfort him. Though part of her wonders if all she wants is to feel someone there for her, too. Someone who feels the same.

* * *

><p>She spends the next half an hour typing furiously at her computer, directing each bolt of emotion into the words.<p>

_Dear Mr Harrison..._

She prints of the letter, signs it, seals it, drops it off at Harrison's office and goes back down to Blaine.

* * *

><p>He's fine today. A little nervous, but the edge of the overpass is far enough away. He could even go home. Except there's no one to go home to just yet.<p>

Alistair reaches out to him, offers a hand. Blaine shakes it with a smile, asks where Kurt is, receives no answer.

"I heard you liked music, Blaine."

"Yes, and so does Kurt. Have you heard him sing? He's amazing."

"I'm sure he _is_," Clare stresses.

"I used to sing too, when I was younger. I was in my school choir, anyway. Would you let me sing with you, Blaine?"

He doesn't wait for an answer.

"_live in my house, I'll be your shelter  
><em>_just pay my back with one thousand kisses  
><em>_be my lover, I'll cover you"_

Two voices.

"_open your door, I'll be your tenant  
><em>_don't got much baggage to lay at your feet  
><em>_but sweet kisses I've got to spare  
><em>_I'll be there and I'll cover you"_

And a third voice, slightly more nervous.

"_I think they meant it when they said you can't buy love  
><em>_now I know you can rent it  
><em>_a new lease you are my love  
><em>_on life, be my life"_

Clare looks up at her husband and smiles through the words.

Blaine adds a harmony and Clare tries another and it's a little shaky and a little off-key and doesn't work in all places and she and Alistair laugh a little in the middle of the melody.

All three take hands.

"Kurt likes that song too," Blaine tells them when they've finished.

* * *

><p>Clare pulls her husband aside into the reception that evening when Lauren comes to check Blaine over again.<p>

"I've resigned."

"What?"

"No more practising. I want to care for Blaine. It's what Kurt would have wanted, I'd like to think."

"But I told you – we can't. What do you intend to do? Move into his house? Or have him come to ours? You can't do it, Clare."

"No, no, not full-time. As much as I can, but Kurt's stepbrother is coming up here now. He looked after Blaine when Kurt went away a few years ago for a couple of days, and I'm fairly sure he's the only person Kurt would entrust Blaine to."

* * *

><p><em>Thank you again all so so much for reading and for all your reviews! The next chapter will be our final one!<em>


	20. Chapter 19

It's on a translucent September morning when Blaine Anderson, Finn Hudson and Clare Smith stand beneath a tree in what was once Kurt and Blaine's garden. It's the one they used to lie beneath in the summer – Clare remembered Kurt telling her – where they'd find harmonies in notes and in bodies. Clare holds a small urn, which Finn takes a handful of ashes from, and she encourages Blaine to do the same before she takes hers.

"On three?"

"Yeah."

Blaine stands in silence, waiting for what to do.

"One – two – three," Finn and Clare say simultaneously before slowly opening their palms, scattering the ashes into the freedom of the wind. Blaine, taking their lead, does the same, bringing his palm to his mouth before blowing them away as if with a kiss.

Clare hands the urn to Finn, who turns the last ones out.

"Would anyone like to say anything before we go inside?"

Finn, oddly steadfast, lowers himself to his knees between the old summer petals which have now fallen, and kisses the ground.

"Bye, Kurt," he whispers, so soft that Blaine can't hear him.

Clare takes Blaine's hand.

"Why isn't Kurt here?" he asks her.

"Kurt's always with us, Blaine," Finn smiles at him.

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

"Kurt? – Wait, you're not Kurt - "

"No, no, I'm not Kurt, Rachel."

"How do you know my – Finn, is that you? What are you doing up in New York?"

"Caring for Blaine."

"Where's Kurt? I sent him a letter about two weeks ago and he hasn't replied. Has he been away?"

"You could say that."

"What do you mean? Finn, is everything okay?"

"No, Rachel! Everything's not okay - !"

"Finn, hey, hey, what's wrong?"

"Kurt's dead! That's what's wrong. And now I am left to look after Blaine because he has _no one else_ to care for him and I don't have a clue what I'm doing! That's what's wrong."

Rachel stares, wanting to reach through and comfort Finn as he unravels, but not knowing what to say.

"I'm coming over."

* * *

><p>They sit together that afternoon and talk, go out to the tree they stood under that morning, holding hands, just in case of they-don't-know-what.<p>

All the while, through the open window to the music room, they hear the slow, slow creeping of an out-of-tune cello, trying its best to sound beautiful. It almost does.

* * *

><p>"Will you be okay?" Rachel asks Finn as she's about to leave, standing framed in the doorway<p>

"No idea. I managed three days last time and it was fine. Blaine was fine."

Finn looks back down the hallway to where Blaine and Clare are in the music room, before turning back and smiling at her, reminiscent of their high school years and fading photographs.

"Yeah, we'll be okay," Finn tells her with a slight nod before she leaves and heads back to the city, to the bright lights and a character that's not herself.

* * *

><p>They stay out that night, lie beneath the tree and breathe speechlessness into the air, look to the sky wearing stars like an antique wedding dress. Finn spots Ursa Minor and Orion, tracing the dots like a child with the tip of his finger while Blaine leans back on his arm, clutching at his shirt and at the edges of sleep.<p>

Finn rolls over onto his side, leans his head above Blaine's, travels over each vertebra with his fingers.

"Kurt?" Blaine whispers into Finn's chest, seemingly elsewhere, and Finn looks up at the sky, hoping he can meet Kurt's eyes amongst the stars.

* * *

><p>"How is everything up there?" Carole's voice is comforting even over the phone.<p>

"Not too bad, so far. Blaine's asleep now and so yeah, that's what's been going on. Also we scattered Kurt's ashes this morning, and Rachel came over this afternoon, and there's been no trouble."

"Glad to hear it. Oh, sweetheart, I wish we could both be up there with you, help you out a bit. It must be so hard for one person."

"It's not just me – Blaine's doctor, Clare, she's helping me too."

"But she's not a full time carer like you are. She has her own life. A husband. Children too - ?"

"No, no children."

"Anyway, you're doing this all on your own. I'm so proud of you, Finn."

"Thanks, Mom."

"You really are your father's son. In fact, both of your fathers'. Chris would be just as proud as Burt and I am of you."

Finn almost manages to stop himself from crying.

* * *

><p>That night, Finn sleeps next to Blaine, his arm around Blaine's chest somewhat subconsciously, their breathing a slow ebb and flow as the tide of safety and the current of dreams washes over them.<p>

And, not for the first time since it happened, he dreams of Kurt; together with his father, drinking coffee at a bare table in a white room and laughing.

* * *

><p>The drum kit hasn't been used in years. Probably not since the last time he was here, Finn thinks as he blows pillows of dust from the seat and off the skins. He starts with a slow beat on the bass, adds the rippling of the cymbal, gets a rhythm going until the door to the music room opens and Blaine walks in, his hair a mess and his eyes still a little fluttery from sleep.<p>

"You're not Kurt," he says simply.

"No, I'm not." Finn cautiously places the drumsticks down, ready for any reaction.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Where's Kurt?"

"Kurt's not here, Blaine."

"How do you know my name? You're not Kurt."

"No, I'm his brother, Blaine, and - "

"Where's Kurt? What have you done with him?"

"Nothing, Blaine, hey, hey, calm down, Blaine – ow!"

Finn catches a breath as a fist lands on his stomach, another to his shoulder and _oh shit I forgot Blaine used to box and that's still in there somewhere I bet _and he reaches out to grab Blaine by the elbow to stop the next fist coming but then there's a kick at his shins instead and screaming screaming raw raw screaming _I want Kurt I want Kurt where's Kurt _and Finn's hesitant to use force but in the end he has to twist Blaine's arm and he lets out a yell and falls to the floor where Finn takes him into his arms and rocks him slowly while he cries, stroking his hair and whispering _shh shh _like a lullaby.

* * *

><p>Carefully, when his tears have dried and he's fallen asleep again, Finn cradles Blaine in his arms and carries him upstairs, laying him down again in the bed and folding the cover. Each touch is wind-light, almost afraid he might break Blaine who, at that moment, seems so fragile.<p>

But then, Finn thinks, Blaine's probably already broken somewhere in there.

* * *

><p>Finn had forgotten this from last time. Well, not forgotten completely, but he didn't remember it being so bad. And he doesn't recall getting any physical injuries at Blaine's last breakdown.<p>

He dabs some arnica on the bruises before going outside into the icy sunshine, walking through the garden. The leaves sparkle beneath his feet, and

Finally, he stops beneath the tree in the centre, the one they had gathered under yesterday morning, and lets himself breathe, and think, and remember.

"Hey Kurt, just one question. How did you do it?"

Part of him expects Kurt to talk back to him somehow. A secret in the breeze or a pattern in the rain. But instead, with the breathing and the thinking and the remembering, an answer comes to him, the same as last time:

He's not Kurt. He'll never be Kurt.

But he can do everything he can to be like Kurt.

* * *

><p>He's just tidying up the bedroom, Blaine still sleeping, when he comes to the desk, sees the diary open at the right page.<p>

And each line reads the same. They're steadfast and safe and comforting in a way, remembering the phrase from last time with a half-smile; the same sentiment. The one that tells him that yeah, they're going to be fine.

_Hurry here, sweetheart, faster than the speed of light._

_Hurry here, sweetheart, faster than the speed of light._

_Hurry here, sweetheart, faster than the speed of light._

* * *

><p><em>And we've reached the end!<em>

_First, I have compiled both a playlist and a list of all the references during this story. If you would like it, please feel free to go to my tumblr (hisnameisjoanne) or my LiveJoural (turnthedarkness) and I'll be more than happy to send you a link!_

_Secondly, mentioning LiveJournal, I have also posted this story in complete on there, if you prefer reading things on sites other than this._

_And finally, I want to thank you all. Your support, your kind words, every comment, favourite, alert and readers, it's you who have kept me motivated and going on what has been the longest and most difficult piece I have ever written. Thank you so, so much._


End file.
